


Different names for the same thing

by liketheroad



Category: Bandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:58:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Ryan, Spencer, Brendon and Jon live in a house in Chicago and go to school and work and make waffles and have misunderstandings and fall in love. Also wherein Tom Conrad is kind of magic. (Ryan/Spencer/Brendon/Jon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different names for the same thing

Different names for the same thing

Part One; Ryan

Ryan met Tom Conrad at a house party in Jersey. He was there for a grad conference and got invited back to a wine and cheese that quickly turned into 40 people and lot of beer. He got shoved into the kitchen at one point and almost collided with Tom, who, after taking a step back to look at him, wasn't too bad a guy to bump into. They didn't get past basic introductions that night, but in the morning when Ryan woke up, Tom was standing at the window of the room they'd stumbled into, wearing last night's clothes and taking pictures of the street below. Something about the relaxed concentration in Tom's shoulders stopped Ryan from feeling the traditional and pressing desire to quickly escape the awkwardness that tended to follow one-night-stands in the bright light of day. Hearing his movements, the rustle of the sheets, Tom turned back and smiled at Ryan, loose and unassuming.

"Hey man, you want to grab some breakfast?"

Ryan had one day left in Jersey before his flight back to Vegas and he ended up spending all of it with Tom. He'd been planning on going to a few local art exhibits, seeing if he could track down a couple friends who'd made it out there for school or to try and play music, but instead he ambled around the city with Tom, talking about their childhoods and trying to do something viable with their art. Tom did freelance photography and played guitar, but he was out of school for the moment. He sounded alright with it, but Ryan, who was headed to Chicago that fall to begin an MA in Creative Writing, couldn't imagine leaving the protective cloak of academia just yet. School was the only place so far he'd found that allowed him time to write, that even, as far as it went, paid him to do it. He wasn't sure he wanted to teach, but maybe somewhere that would let him do a little lecturing and still write, yeah, maybe something like that. Tom seemed happy though, as far as Ryan could tell from as little as he knew him, working jobs simple enough to give him plenty of free time, just enough to pay what bills his photography and music wouldn't. It didn't seem like so bad a life.

It came up in conversation that Tom's best friend Jon (JWalk, as Tom referred to him) was living out in Chicago as well, that they had grown up there. Tom seemed even happier than he did about most things, talking about Jon. Ryan sensed he was the kind of guy who had that affect on people. This Jon Walker.

"You should look him up, he's awesome." Tom said to Ryan as they leaned over a shared pizza, kicking each other absently under the table.

Ryan smiled vaguely and said, "Yeah," but he never actually expected to do it.

Turned out he was pretty much wrong about that.

 

\---

How he actually ended up living with Jon was a little more complicated.

\---

If he wasn't living with Spencer, Ryan thinks he probably would have just tried to live in his office. It was small and kind of crappy, and he had to share, but he figured he probably would have done it anyway. His officemate was a Phd student named Pete who was in something like the 7th year of his degree. Pete was actually a doctoral candidate for rhetoric and communications, but he ran a few writing workshops and technically the departments cross-listed many of their courses. He apparently went through officemates pretty quickly, which was why Ryan got placed with him. It also may have had to do with how slow Ryan was in sauntering into the departmental office and asking for his office key. Pete was supposedly scarily brilliant, but he also had about a dozen (visible) tattoos and didn't really seem like the kind of guy who'd have minded Ryan camping out there and maybe sneaking in a hotplate.

Of course, it was all a moot point anyway, because Ryan was living with Spencer. With Spencer, this kid named either Brandon or Brendon and, as it turned out, Tom's bff Jon Walker. Ryan had, in typical fashion, held up his hands, huffed a sigh, and left all arrangements concerning securing a place for them to live up to Spencer, so it had come as a surprise to him. He and Tom e-mailed occasionally; first, Tom had sent Ryan the pictures he'd taken the day they spent together in Jersey, then Ryan e-mailed back with a short story he'd written about the couple having drinks almost out of frame in his favorite of them. They'd traded little things like that back and forth sporadically in the months since their brief time together. Nothing to explain how Spencer had apparently gotten into contact with Tom or how they'd both ended up living in an old brick house ten minutes away from campus with Tom's very own Jon Walker.

Spencer explained it with an entitled shoulder shrug that let Ryan know Spencer had seen Tom's name either in Ryan's phone or in his e-mail contacts and had used his mysterious powers to figure out the rest. After over a decade of friendship, Ryan was pretty much used to Spencer checking up on him; he counted on it, in fact, so he shrugged as well and let Spencer's most recent episode of protective meddling go.

It didn't hurt that, in the week Ryan'd known him, Jon had managed to establish himself as Ryan's second favorite person, possibly ever. Ryan wasn't typically prone to friendliness or enthusiasm, but Jon drew both out of him without breaking a sweat.

His wooing process consisted mostly of sitting around in jeans and no socks, strumming his bass and offering to smoke Ryan up. All this with a lazy half-smile on his face that never failed to seem genuine despite its continual presence. His laid-back attitude seemed to confuse Spencer a little, which consequently made Spencer irritated with Jon, but Ryan was confident Spencer would get over it. While he appeared a little high-strung, Spencer was actually an incredibly calm person. He was just used to dealing with Ryan, and in contrast, Jon threw Spencer off a little. Spencer wasn't a big fan of that.

He did better with B-whatever, and it was possible Ryan was mildly cranky about it. Spencer kept doing things like putting Bren(or Bran)don's shoes away and reminding him when he had class and finding his stupid red glasses when B-question-mark-don lost them. That was the sort of thing Spencer was supposed to do for Ryan, and the fact that Spencer still totally did all that kind of stuff for him in no way lessened Ryan's crankiness about the situation in general.

He'd felt he was hiding it pretty well until Spencer bumped their shoulders together almost roughly, the way he did when he was making a point of it, and then said, "He just reminds me of you, okay? He's such a spazz I can't help it. Just... brings it out in me."

Ryan crossed his arms and frowned to let Spencer know he was crazy and that Ryan didn't appreciate the comparison. Brendon (as Spencer reminded him disapprovingly) was loud and klutzy and babbled until he was forcibly stopped. He had a Princess Jasmine pencil case. Ryan was nothing like him.

Spencer ignored all these excellent points and the fact that Ryan hadn't made any of them aloud was irrelevant. Spencer totally knew what he was ignoring when he rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, please."

The absent, reflexive kiss he placed on the side of Ryan's forehead before he left the room almost made up for it though.

\---

Ryan's program was small; there were only 12 other MA students working in the strictly creative writing vein, and they were all scrambling to apply their majors to other fields for their Phd, already spending time they should have been on their readings on grant applications and research proposals. Ryan had been vaguely planning to move into lit theory and criticism, but Pete kept trying to woo him into rhetoric.

And his pants.

Ryan was on the fence about rhetoric, but he was considerably more compelled by Pete's arguments on the second matter.

Flirting with Pete was rapidly becoming one of Ryan's favorite pastimes. Or rather, leaning against his desk and looking bored while Pete flirted outrageously and gave impromptu lectures about narrative-- which Ryan would actually have been impressed with if he wasn't so busy pretending he didn't notice how good Pete's ass looked in those increasingly tight jeans-- was rapidly becoming one of his favorite pastimes. Ryan didn't usually bother playing hard to get, not when he was actually interested in allowing the person in question to fuck him, but the more he rolled his eyes and resisted Pete, the more Pete seemed to enjoy himself. So much so that it almost seemed like a shame to give in, but Ryan was only human.

He held out as long as he could, letting Pete get close, but never quite as close as Pete clearly wanted to get. Ryan wasn't used to it, trying to let the anticipation build, trying to maintain interest. Someone else's, his own. But it was surprisingly natural with Pete. Hands brushing as they said good-byes, bumping into each other as they crossed the office getting books, grabbing coffee off each other's desks, chins on shoulders as they read off each other's computer screen's and mocked each other's spelling and helped improve their ideas.

A slow, agonizing build of little moments and strategic shying away until Ryan came into the office late on a Tuesday night, shaking rain out of his bangs and prepared to drop, exhausted, into his chair before he went to make coffee and tried to power through the night to finish the short story that was due in class the next day, only to swear in surprise when his eyes fell upon Pete, already there and bent over his own work. Pete didn't even look up, just kept working feverishly, completely lost in his thought, his hair at improbable angels and his eyeliner hopelessly smudged. Something caught in Ryan's throat and he all but launched himself on Pete, getting from his desk to Pete's in less time than seemed physically possible.

Then Pete looked up, stunned and then wildly hopeful and Ryan grinned helplessly back.

For a second, Pete looked mournfully back at his computer. "Now?" He asked, almost plaintively and Ryan threw his head back and laughed.

Pete watched Ryan's throat with interest and Ryan turned his smile into something heated, brazen. He twisted the collar of Pete's T-shirt with his index finger, tugging Pete towards him slightly.

Pete gulped and Ryan tightened his hold.

"Now."

\---

It happened that way, Pete still in his chair and Ryan moving above him, hands making bruises against skin, the lights on, their office door locked behind them. When it was over Pete kissed Ryan shakily for the first time and Ryan smiled almost sweetly down at him. He smoothed Pete's hair and climbed off him, turning away to gather up what clothes he had lost, rearranging himself.

When he turned back, Pete was similarly put together, sheepish grin on his face, his hands already poised above his keyboard.

Ryan snorted softly but didn't say anything. He felt the same itch in his fingers. He went back to his own desk and they both stayed on, working through the night and smiling at each other across the room in the first light of morning.

\---

It didn't happen again, but amazingly, it wasn't awkward. Pete still flirted, and lectured, and wore tight pants, and generally acted like a parody of himself. And Ryan still rolled his eyes, and hid his smiles, and pretended not to listen to the things Pete said even though he loved to hear Pete talk, even though he thought Pete's mind was a fascinating web of brilliance and insecurity, contradictions and moments of blinding clarity. They still let their hands linger as they said good bye when one of them was leaving the office, still grinned at each other in the halls and still sat on each other's desks, eating stolen apples and calling the other's thesis topic bullshit.

The urgency was gone, the heat, but instead of being left with nothing, with a hollow feeling and awkward silences, they managed to inhabit a different space together, something easy and familiar despite how new to each other they still were. Something special, something safe.

One afternoon Ryan looked up from the book he was reading and saw Pete doing the same, looking up at him over his book, smiling, and Ryan told him Pete was kind of like the older brother he'd never had.

Pete brayed a mildly hysterical laugh and then choked out, "Ryan Ross, you are one fucked-up kid."

Ryan shrugged and went back to his reading. He could feel Pete's fond smile on him without looking.

\---

Between Pete in his office, his classes bringing out his ruthlessly competitive streak and having Spencer to come home to and curl up with every night, Ryan was pretty much ready to consider his life a success on all fronts. He was happyand well-fed (it wasn't the only reason he kept Spencer around but, seriously), he had places and spaces that felt like his own, people who felt like they were his, like they wanted to be. He found himself humming sometimes, on his way back and forth from campus, in the kitchen in the morning while he poured himself the coffee Jon always had ready first thing and fended Brendon off so he could have first crack at the best cereal.

Cereal combat aside, he was even warming up to Brendon. This was largely due to the Jon Walker Seal of Approval, which basically consisted of Jon shaking his head atRyan and saying, "no, man, Brendon is awesome," and then shooting Ryan a thumbs-up every time Brendon entered a room. Ryan didn't entirely get Jon and Brendon's relationship, or friendship, or whatever it was exactly, but he couldn't ignore how Brendon made Jon smile, how he attacked Jon with cuddles and always made it look like he was doing it just for himself even though he tended to attack when Jon had just gotten home from a crappy day at work or had gotten off the phone with Tom and looked lonely and homesick for the way home can only feel if the people that make it home are there with you. And once he'd allowed himself to see that, Ryan had been forced to to admit Brendon had other redeeming qualities as well. He was actually pretty funny, especially when he was just on the edge of being pissed off, and Ryan liked to tease Brendon to the brink of that just to hear what quick, snarky things Brendon would bite back at him. He was clearly smarter than he acted, as if the fact that he was in an advanced musical theory degree and played a million instruments wasn't indication enough, Ryan saw knowledge in Brendon's eyes he acted like too much of a spazz to actually pick up on. It interested Ryan, made him wonder why Brendon liked to set people's expectations of him so low. He had a shocking voice, coming out of nowhere and grabbing your insides, and that was just what Ryan had noticed in the few snatches of songs he caught Brendon singing in the shower, which was the only place Ryan ever heard him. He'd asked Brendon about it once, but he'd stammered and mostly refused to answer. Ryan tried Jon next, and he looked uncomfortable and a bit angry, but his answer, something about how Brendon used to sing in his church and something else about how his parents hadn't liked him singing in the house, being too disruptive, explained all Ryan needed to know; he didn't bring it up again.

Most of all, Ryan was growing to appreciate that while Brendon might be kind of inept as far as basic common sense went, he happened to be pretty fucking competent when it came to dealing with Spencer. And once he had gotten over his initial disgruntled suspicion, Ryan had started to be pretty fucking glad that Brendon seemed to know a bunch of things about how to make Spencer happy, how to calm him down or cheer him up, all without anyone telling him. Ryan knew no one had told Brendon because Spencer never told anyone; it was his most frustrating quality, right after how he insisted on separating the colors when doing his laundry and got cranky if they weren't folded immediately after they came out of the dryer. Ryan got that Spencer liked to feel he could take care of himself, that he prided himself on self-sufficiency or whatever the hell, but just because Spencer could take care of himself didn't mean Ryan thought he should have to. Brendon seemed to agree, and he was admirably crafty about it, which you had to be when dealing with Spence, and that was about as much as it ever took to get into Ryan's otherwise very selective good books.

Brendon understood that Spencer needed breakfast for dinner on nights when he was stressed about one of his weird culinary exams or when he missed his sisters and his dogs. He got that waffles were a meal appropriate for any time of day, and that just because Spencer could make them best didn't mean he should always be the one who had to. He got that Spencer still liked looking at drumming magazines even though they hadn't been able to bring Spencer's kit with them in the move, and that even though he glared at people who tried it, he secretly loved being tickled. That one was actually Brendon's own discovery, and Ryan had hated him for a whole minute when he realized Brendon had found something about Spencer Ryan himself hadn't known, but then he'd taken another second to look at the gleeful abandon on both of their faces and promptly joined in. Brendon told him later, in a triumphant, conspiratorial tone, that Ryan had the fingers of a championship tickler. He'd actually followed that up with a wink, and somehow Ryan hadn't been able to help laughing fondly in response. After that Ryan felt a little more like they were partners in the whole thing. And he was okay with that. As long as it was understood that Brendon was the junior partner and that Spencer was still ultimately Ryan's responsibility. He never said this aloud, but that was another one of those things Brendon just seemed to know, and even though it made him look a little wistful sometimes, he never said or tried for anything different.

The only thing that was threatening Ryan's uncharacteristic good temper was that Spencer still hadn't warmed up to Jon. He wasn't rude to him; he no longer glared at Jon randomly and cocked his hips at him challengingly when Jon walked into a room or sat down beside Ryan, but he wasn't the way he was with someone he actually liked, and maybe Spencer thought Ryan couldn't tell, but please. He so could. If Spencer liked you, he was going to bitch at you sometimes for no reason, he was going to snap when he was frustrated and stomp around in your general direction when you'd done something to disappoint him. But he'd also giggle when you made him happy, he'd beam when you did something good, when you'd done something be proud of. He gave phenomenal, crushing hugs, made his own cards on important and sometimes specific-to-you-and-he-alone holidays, and stood firmly between you and anything that might hurt. That was what being Spencer's friend was, what it meant. And Jon was clearly not Spencer's friend. He was, instead, treated with a kind of resigned politeness, Spencer behaving in forced way that made Ryan flinch sometimes to even be around. He asked about Jon's day, he asked what food Jon liked for meals he was making, he sat in the living room with all of them when Jon was bored or sad and wanted to watch the O.C to cheer up. But in all of these actions there was no feeling, nothing behind it other than the surface, the false smile and the guarded look he never quite managed to keep out of his eyes.

It made Ryan queasy, almost afraid. He didn't understand it but he couldn't bring himself to ask Spencer, he just tried to pretend it wasn't happening when they were all together in a room; when it was only him and Spencer, they never talked about Jon, never so much as said his name if it could be helped. It made Ryan want to cling to Spencer's shoulders and ask him what Jon had ever done, what he'd done and why Ryan didn't know about it, why Spencer wasn't telling him so Ryan could hate him too, so they could be united on this like they were on everything else.

Only he couldn't imagine anything Jon could have possibly done. Not Jon who was gentle and kind underneath the careless exterior, who loved animals and took care of Brendon, who worked a crazy amount and still found time for his photography, his music. Ryan couldn't believe Jon had actually done anything, and so he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Not Spencer anyway. He made the calculated mistake of getting incredibly baked with Jon one night while Spencer was at a class and Brendon was teaching a piano lesson, the two of them half lying on the floor, their shoulders propped up against the front of the couch. They passed the pipe back and forth until finally Ryan was floating high enough above his fears to ask,

"Why doesn't Spence like you?"

Jon coughed a little, but that might have been because he was in the middle of an inhale of smoke. He put the pipe down and looked sideways at Ryan's face.

"He doesn't not like me." Jon said, his words careful and slow. That might have been the pot too.

Ryan frowned and dug a shoulder into Jon's arm. "I wish he did, but Jon. He's my best friend, I can tell the difference."

Jon raised an eyebrow, his face scrunching for a second before answering, "Yeah. I just meant. It's not that he doesn't like me. That's not, like... the problem."

Ryan tried to sit up a little straighter, but it seemed too hard after he made his first attempt, and he gave up, sinking back down so his head was almost lolling on Jon's shoulder. He kicked at Jon's foot with his, but mostly missed.

"So what is the problem?"

"Huh?" Jon asked.

Ryan tried to focus his expression into a glare, and poked Jon in the side. "What's the problem? I like you. You make me... happy. That's usually enough for Spencer."

Jon huffed a laugh. "Well, yeah, dude. Except that in this case that's kind of the problem."

"What?"

Jon moved away from the couch, angling so they were facing each other, his face serious despite the telltale redness in his eyes. "Ryan, Spencer likes me fine. Or he would. I think... I think if it wasn't for this thing with us he'd actually like me a lot. I think we'd get along great." Jon rubbed a frustrated hand over his face. "I wish I could convince him there's nothing to worry about, I wish we could have that. Be friends."

Ryan nodded. "Because Spencer is awesome."

Jon's smile was a little sad, "Yeah, Ryan. Spencer's awesome."

Ryan shook his head. "So why doesn't he like you?" He waved an impatient hand. "Or whatever."

Jon's mouth flattened, "Ryan, come on. Because he's jealous."

Ryan blinked. "Of what?"

Jon stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Ryan pursed his lips, "Fuck you, I don't understand what you're talking about."

Jon shook his head. When he looked at Ryan again, his face was shuttered, drawn into itself. "He's jealous of how much we hang out, of how much we... it's not your fault Ryan, and he trusts you, I know that. He just doesn't trust me."

Ryan blinked some more. It was part of his thought process, okay? He rubbed the back of his neck. "So what, Spencer thinks you're gonna like, steal me and then you'll be my new best friend? That's fucking stupid." He winced. "No offense."

Jon was staring at him incredulously.

Ryan shrugged awkwardly, "What. I mean, I really like you, Jon. You're like... you're my second favorite person on the planet. Pete might kind of tie but that's just cause he's Pete, he like... needs it more or something. And okay, I'm warming up to Brendon and everything but... look - you're awesome. But you're not Spencer." He flushed slightly and flitted his eyes away from Jon. He wasn't used to having to tell people stuff like this. Back in Vegas it was pretty much assumed.

The confusion wasn't gone from Jon's face, though. "Yeah, Ryan, I know. I'm not saying I'm trying anything. I do like you, he's right about that, way more than I should and I'm trying not to. But I would never try to get between the two of you, I'd never do that. I respect your relationship way too much. I just wish Spencer would believe me."

Ryan paused, trying to make sense of the words Jon had said, the stresses that seemed to have come in the wrong places. Finally he asked, "What relationship?"

Jon sighed. He looked away. "The two of you. You're together. I get that. I'd never try to split you up."

Ryan stuttered, "We're not - what are you - we're --" he swallowed. "We're friends."

Jon's eyes snapped back, searching Ryan's face. "Friends."

Ryan nodded vigorously.

"Ryan, you share a bed."

Ryan's hand flew up to his face, but he didn't let himself chew anxiously on his fingertips like he wanted to. "We're just... that's just habit. It was cheaper, living here, and there was only one room left in the house or whatever, Spence made the arrangements, I don't know, but it's just how we've always done it. Since we were kids, whatever. But we're not... we're just... we're just us."

There was a long silence as Jon took this in. Ryan wanted to get up and hide, but he didn't.

When Jon turned to him and said, "Ryan, you're not kids anymore," in a sad, pointed way, Ryan almost wished he had.

\---

Ryan couldn't make himself look at Jon in the sad, expectant silence that followed. Instead he stared hard at the ragged cuticles of his fingers, shoulders tucked defensively around his neck.

Jon stretched out a hand and Ryan heard the beginning of his name on Jon's lips. He didn't let Jon get that far, ducking away and jumping up, suddenly and absurdly feigning an attack of the munchies. He all but ran into the kitchen, a mere detour to the stairs up to his room.

He closed the door behind him, and Jon didn't follow.

\---

He wanted to be under the blankets, head buried under blankets and pillows, but as Jon had pointed out, he wasn't actually a kid anymore. He was doing a pretty good impression of one, but still. Even Ryan had his limits. Such as they were.

So he sat, above the blankets Spencer had brought with them from his bed back home, two afghans his grandmother had knitted, one for Spencer, one for Ryan. Spencer's was blue and gray, deep navy and warm power blue, the almost charcoal gray zigzagging between them. Ryan had a thousand memories of tracing that pattern with his fingers. Of building forts under it, of wrapping it around himself when he was young and unhappy, wishing he never had to go home. His own blanket was red and brown, a simpler pattern than Spencer's, but elegant, almost, Ryan had always secretly believed. It was made from a finer wool, almost silky. Not enough to keep Ryan warm by itself, but that had never been a problem. He'd always had Spencer there with him to do the rest. His arms and the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

Ryan ran his finger along one of the deep red curves in the blanket and wondered what exactly he'd thought he was doing. How he could have missed something so fundamental. So necessary and obvious he was able to do it unthinkingly, like breathing.

Spencer.

His thoughts stuttered around the word, around the image of Spencer's sly, knowing smile, his strong hands, his curving hips and steady shoulders. Thought of coming home to that smile everyday, of wrapping himself in those arms every night, his hand placed carefully on the rise of Spencer's hip just below the waist.

He wanted Pete. Wanted Pete there to call him an idiot and to laugh at him and point out all the things he hadn't let himself see and still didn't want to look at too closely.

Thoughts of Pete pulled up other images unbidden. The tight line of Spencer's mouth, there for a second and then gone, that afternoon when Ryan finally got himself home after spending the night in his office, spending the night with Pete. The way Spencer had simply turned and walked up stairs, laid down on their bed and waited for Ryan to follow him, which he had. Without question, without thought. At the time he hadn't even bothered to wonder what the momentary frown was about, why Spencer was suddenly tired in the middle of the day. He'd just followed happily, sleepily, glad to have the warmth in the bed beside him, glad for the excuse to lie down, rest his exhausted body against Spencer's.

He thought of the kiss Spencer had pressed against his collar bone before getting up, changing his shirt and walking out of the room and then the house without a word. He'd had class and Ryan hadn't wondered about Spencer's silent goodbye, had just ambled downstairs a few minutes later when the last tendrils of sleep let go of him. Jon had been in the kitchen looking at a stack of pictures Tom had sent him, in one Tom was waving at the camera, a huge grin his face, water under a bridge behind him. Jon had looked from the picture to Ryan and his face had been blank, behind that, confused.

Ryan remembered poking Jon's nose to distract him, something he'd learned from Brendon, and then Jon had laughed and his question was forgotten. They'd had cookies for dinner and written half a song on Jon's guitar, no lyrics, just whatever words they thought of filling in a simple melody.

He remembered Jon.

He put his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to breathe through the panic as his mind finally let him go over the conversation he had just run from. He let Jon's words echo in his head. I do like you and way more than I should and last, and somehow most painful of all, I'm trying not to.

He thought of what he had said back, automatic, unthinking. You're not Spencer. Other things too, but that was the part that mattered, that was the part Jon would remember. It was the part Ryan needed to remember too.

If Jon was right, and Ryan knew, deep down where he'd probably known for years, that he was, there couldn't be any more falling into other people in the simple, careless way he'd let himself for years. No pressing his lips to Pete's to see if they still sparked, no pulling Tom back into his bed when he came to visit, no easy, fond flirting with Jon, no thought of taking that one step, two steps further.

Jon was the one it hurt to think about, more than he'd expected, but he closed his eyes against such thoughts, tried to make his heart close against them too.

There was nothing and no one that mattered if he could have Spencer. No one. Not even Jon.

\---

He found Jon where he'd left him, sitting on the floor in the living room. Brendon was back and Jon was holding onto him, his face pressed in the curve of Brendon's shoulder. Brendon was on his knees, one hand clenched around the fabric of Jon's shirt, the other carding gently through his hair. They were breathing in time with each other. Brendon looked up from Jon when he heard Ryan's feet make the hardwood creek. His face wasn't angry, exactly, but it wasn't welcoming and Ryan swallowed back what he'd planned to say and fled outside.

He hadn't taken the extra second to grab his coat off the hook, so he was out there in only his clothes, socks but no shoes. He pulled one of his scarves closer around him and sagged down onto the front steps, no where else to go. He stayed and counted the minutes by songs as the night grew darker. At one point someone, probably Brendon, turned the front light on, and Ryan looked at his hands in the stark yellow light. They looked bony, too long. He wished he had his gloves to cover them.

He stayed until Spencer came home, his footsteps against the sidewalk startling Ryan out of his head, eyes flying up to meet Spencer's. Spencer looked at him curiously, titled his head. His smile was reserving judgment.

"Waiting up for me? Or did you just forget your keys?"

Ryan shook his head.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "None of the above?"

Ryan nodded jerkily.

Spencer shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and walked the rest of the distance to Ryan, sitting down on the step beside him. He looked up at the sky and Ryan did the same.

"Someday we'll live somewhere you can see the stars," Spencer said idly, with simple confidence.

Ryan laced their fingers together and said, "Yeah."

\---

Nothing really happened after that, nothing really changed.

They went back inside and Jon and Brendon were gone from the living room. Spencer aimed them in the direction of the kitchen and, still attached by their fingers, Ryan allowed himself to be pulled along without resistance. Spencer dropped his hand with a reassuring squeeze as he puttered around the kitchen making himself a snack, asking, his face half stuck in the refrigerator,

"You in the mood for something salty or something sweet?"

Ryan blinked and wondered why it would have never seemed strange to him before that Spencer would automatically include him, think of him. He chewed on a finger, but gently, not enough to catch Spencer's disapproval, not enough for him to take Ryan's hand out of his mouth and kiss it, shaking his head.

From behind the fridge door Spencer muttered, "Something sweet," decisively and started pulling things out.

Ryan didn't say anything in response; Spencer already knew he was right.

\---

They took the fruit and granola salad that Spencer had thrown together up to their room in the big clay bowls one of Spencer's sisters had made for them when she was in the 7th grade. Ryan noticed Spencer was using one of Brendon's princess spoons but didn't comment.

They sat crossed-legged and facing each other, eating steadily, not really talking. Their feet were touching, and occasionally Ryan pressed the sole of his foot against Spencer's to feel Spencer apply the reassuring pressure back.

Since Spencer had made the food, Ryan nominated himself to go put the bowls in the dishwasher before they went to sleep. Spencer was already brushing his teeth and stretching his neck, loosening up for sleep. He smiled as Ryan left the room, saying, "See you in a bit," as Ryan left the room.

The lights were still on downstairs so before going into the kitchen Ryan went around the different rooms of the house, shutting off lamps and flipping switches. He went to the front door and checked the lock. It was already locked, but he fingered the deadbolt anyway, unlocking it and then locking it again.

He went into the kitchen at last, and was not surprised to find Jon there. He was perched on the counter, looking out the back door that led into the alley.

Jon said, "Are you okay?"

Considering the circumstances, Ryan figured he should have been the one to ask that question. He put the bowls away before answering.

Jon said, "Ryan," and he turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry," came first.

Jon smiled, sad but real. "You don't have to be."

Ryan frowned, considering. "I am." It wasn't much, but it was all he could give him.

Jon nodded. "Thank you."

Ryan bit his lip for a second, considering again, before ducking in quickly to brush his lips with Jon's. Jon made a quiet, reluctant noise, but Ryan wasn't sure if it was because Ryan had started the kiss or ended it.

They looked at each other for a moment longer, noses almost close enough to touch, feeling each other's breath on their faces, and then Jon took Ryan by the shoulders and pushed him gently away.

"Night, Ry," he said quietly, with finality.

Ryan nodded.

"Good night, Jon."

When he got back upstairs, Spencer was already in bed waiting for him, the lamp by the bedside left on. A smile ghosted across Ryan's face and he slid into bed, taking his place beside Spencer.

Spencer automatically pulled Ryan closer, arranging himself around Ryan. He kissed Ryan's hair.

"It doesn't seem to matter how good a cook I become, you're still a bony fucker."

Ryan huffed a laugh against Spencer's cheek. "You love me anyway. " It should have felt strange to say, bold and new, but the words felt the same on Ryan's lips.

Spencer's response was instant, expected. "Always."

\---

Ryan considered spending more time beating himself up over the fact that evidently Spencer had been quietly dating him for the past decade and he hadn't even fucking noticed, or done anything but take Spencer's presence and affection completely for granted, never questioning it, never expecting he'd have to do anything to ensure things stayed exactly as they were. He'd always been slightly proud of himself for that fact, even. Proud that Spencer was the one person he never doubted, the one person he always knew he could lean on, no matter how hard he needed to, the one person he knew he couldn't lose. It had always seemed like a pretty big accomplishment, considering, like anything less would have been an insult to Spencer, an affront to his reliability, his steadiness, his devotion. All that, and Ryan had never stopped to think about why Spencer's presence was so assured, why his feelings went so deep; deep enough that Ryan had never had to doubt their continuance. It was all pretty fucking obvious now, enough that he was embarrassed for himself and frankly a little horrified, and while he felt like he deserved to walk over hot coals and generally do penance, he decided he could do Spencer one better and just get with the fucking program instead of berating himself for taking so long to clue in in the first place.

He wasn't sure how to do that, exactly; dealing with Spencer was never something that had needed much thought. They just existed together and that was right, that was good. But Spencer deserved to be treated like a goddamn prince, Ryan knew that much. He'd always tried, haphazardly and without much visible success, to give back everything Spencer gave to him, but he saw now that much of his lack of success was down to having a severely skewed conception of what exactly Spencer was giving him. Love of this kind, the kind of love that took body and mind into consideration and said yes to both, that was something Ryan definitely needed to work on with Spencer. They'd always shared personal space, Ryan had always known he could go to Spencer for comfort, for warmth. But this was different, this was a more he hadn't known he could have, hadn't known would be welcomed if he tried to give it back. Instead he'd saved his heart for Spencer and given his body casually to anyone else who might have showed a passing interest, and it hadn't hurt him, hadn't made him feel less than himself or dirty, but he saw in flashes of moments, reactions, that he'd hurt Spencer over and over - and that was fucking unacceptable.

So there would be no more of that, clearly, but finally living up to Spencer was going to necessitate taking other steps as well. He tried not to let his imagination run away from him, tried not to be driven solely by the want suddenly awake inside of him, feelings too strong to be new, which only felt latent, uncoiling from where they'd lived inside him for what had to be years. He couldn't just launch himself on Spencer, greedy hands and lips, couldn't just take and demand, even if he knew what he wanted was already on offer.

Spencer deserved to be romanced, to be courted. He was clearly the expert. Ryan looked back at his adolescence and undergrad and remembered countless evenings out with Spencer, walks on Sunday mornings in his favorite part, muffins brought to Ryan at work when he had early shifts and coffee kept warm and flavored with cinnamon on nights he'd worked late. He saw it all in a new light now, Spencer's love casting a softer, more intimate glow over so many little moments, and Ryan wondered, again, how Spencer could have made him feel so valued, so loved, when he'd never once thought to wonder why, never thought to carry those thoughts to their natural conclusion.

Best friends.

Ryan had always been aware he used those words, thought and spoke them, with a frame of reference, with deeper emphasis than most people did. He'd known from the way he'd say, "Because he's my best friend," to girlfriends he had to blow off to go do something with Spencer, or teachers who suggested he go to schools that would have taken him away from Spencer, known from the blank way they'd look at him in response, that he was missing a piece of what Spencer meant in only those words. But they were the only ones Ryan had ever had, ever thought of, and for him they still meant everything Spencer was to him.

Friend.

Best.

Whatever else they now had the chance to become, Ryan would be keeping that word at least in his heart.

\---

He decided, after a fair amount of pacing in his office and glaring at Pete's elaborate suggestions, to start simple.

"We'll go on a date!" he announced, somewhat triumphantly.

Pete looked amused behind his serious face, "Like people do."

Ryan ignored his tone and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Just like people do! Just like people who are dating and in love do. They go on dates and they hold hands and then sometimes at the end of dates there's kissing."

In all honesty, that was pretty much Ryan's goal. Getting to kiss Spencer, to know what it meant and let himself feel all of it? Not a single one of his plans had revolved around achieving anything else. In his defense, it was Spencer, and Spencer's mouth, so he felt he was entitled to be a little focused.

Pete tapped his jaw thoughtfully, "What kind of a date?"

Ryan's face scrunched into a frown. He had not really gotten that far.

He slumped down on the edge of his desk, and glared at Pete because Pete was the only one there. Pete laughed, but Ryan pointed at him imperiously.

"You're helping me come up with an idea."

Pete nodded with suitable meekness. "Yes sir."

\---

They decided he should keep it traditional, dinner and a movie, presumably simple enough that he wouldn't have much chance to screw it up.

Predictively, Ryan managed to screw it up at almost every turn.

Getting Spencer out with him was no problem. Ryan asked him if he wanted to go out for dinner on Friday afternoon and Spencer shrugged, already considering what places he'd heard about and was interested in trying. Telling Spencer not to worry about it was clearly Ryan's first mistake, because the restaurant he himself ended up choosing was incredibly crowded when they arrived, and Ryan had forgotten to get a reservation, but they were already there and Ryan firmly believed the place was going to be perfect, so they'd ended up waiting, first outside and then in the lobby, for almost an hour before getting a cramped table in the back. Spencer had kept up a pretty stiff lip, making jokes to keep Ryan entertained and glaring fiercely at people who attempted to cut ahead of them, but Ryan could see questions behind his eyes.

Things just got worse by the time they actually sat down at their stupid table; it was near the bathroom and the lighting was too bright. It didn't seem to help that Ryan was trying to be... the way people liked him, worrying about looking good as he talked and saying the right things, because apparently flirting with Spencer was approximately one million times more difficult than flirting with anyone else on the planet, and he felt himself growing more and more awkward and off-putting as the night went on. Their food was okay, but by that point Ryan pretty much wanted to put his head in his hands and disappear, so it didn't really do much for him. Not to mention that the thing he had ordered was something Spencer could have made for Ryan himself, and better, and while Spencer didn't say it, his thoughts on the matter were clear enough from the mildly confused and offended look he had on his face for a second as the food got put in front of him. In his generally flummoxed state, Ryan had totally forgotten that Spencer only liked to go to restaurants that served food he hadn't learned to cook yet, or wasn't interested in making, because otherwise both his sense of frugality and his professional pride were offended. Ryan wasn't really hungry by that point anyway, so it wasn't hard not to eat with enthusiasm. Having his plate taken away less than half gone and not asking for a doggiebag earned Ryan his only real smile from Spencer since they had sat down.

Ryan wasn't really ready to celebrate such a small victory.

They got out of the restaurant as quickly as they could, and Ryan knew he should slow down, let Spencer catch up, but his cheeks were still hot and prickly from when Spencer had tried to pay for the check, the fumbling way Ryan had tried to explain that he was getting it, the bored, knowing expression of the maitre de.  
Spencer actually had to call his name, sharp and forceful, to get Ryan to stop.

They stood suspended in the middle of the sidewalk, about a block away from the restaurant, people walking around them, the street wet from a drizzling rain that was still falling. Spencer caught up and looked at Ryan calculatingly, eyes narrowing.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Ryan waved a gloved hand. "We're going to be late for the movie." He'd tried to pick something Spencer would like, but now all he could think about was that Spencer had always kind of hated Matt Damon.

They were already going to miss the previews anyway, and that was Spencer's favorite part, because he was still allowed to mock the happenings on the screen without anyone trying to shush him. That was Ryan's favorite part, too.

Feeling completely defeated, Ryan moved to the edge of the sidewalk and deposited himself roughly on the curb.

With more care, and frowning slightly at the wet sidewalk, Spencer did the same.

He put a hand on Ryan's knee. "What are we doing, Ryan? What's this about?"

Ryan picked up his hands to gesture as he spoke, but then dropped them back into his lap again when he realized he had nothing to say.

Spencer squeezed Ryan's knee. "Is it bad news?"

Ryan blinked rapidly, trying to determine if what he wanted to tell Spencer tonight actually counted as bad news, before he realized that wasn't what Spencer meant.

"No," he said hoarsely. He shook his head. "It's not like that. I'm not... it was supposed to be good. Special."

Spencer leaned around so they could see each other's faces. "Special?"

Ryan nodded jerkily. "For you."

"Why?"

Ryan bit his lip. "Just because. Because you deserve it."

Spencer raised his eyebrows. "Since when?"

Ryan sighed heavily. This wasn't going as he'd planned. Still. He could at least give Spencer the decency of his honesty, "Since always."

Spencer took his hand off Ryan's knee and instantly he missed it. Spencer rubbed his hands together, massaging his knuckles, flexing his wrists.

"You finally figured it out, huh."

Not able to help it, Ryan grabbed Spencer's hands back, cupped them together in his.

"I didn't mean for you to know. I hoped... I thought we could just carry on but that I could be... better. Be more."

Spencer laughed. Ryan heard the edge in it. "And you didn't think I would notice?"

He shrugged. "Took me long enough, didn't it?"

"Ryan," Weary, resigned.

"No."

Spencer looked at him again. "No?"

"I'm not... this isn't like some big sacrifice for me. Like - hey, you've been a really great friend. Have a pity fuck. It's not fucking like that, Spencer."

Spencer made a soft, angry sound. "Oh, no?"

This wasn't how he'd planned it either - in fact, he didn't have a second to plan it at all - but he grabbed Spencer's face and kissed him harshly, their teeth almost gnashing together. For one blinding moment, Spencer kissed him back and then he shoved Ryan away.

The rain was slightly harder now.

"Be careful, Ryan." Spencer's voice was low; it carried an undercurrent of threat.

Ryan held his chin up high; he met Spencer's eyes unblinking. "I love you."

Spencer's face stayed the same, but Ryan knew him well enough to see that something had changed. His shoulders were still high and stiff, but his hands were relaxing in his lap. He bent his head down, and Ryan tilted it back up.

"I'm in love with you, Spencer. I thought I knew all the ways I could love you, but I keep finding more. I thought I knew what we were, I thought this was all we could be, but I was wrong. There's more we could have and I was just too stupid to see it. I'm saying I'm not that stupid anymore."

Spencer was looking at him seriously, eyes dark and thoughtful. "And Jon? And Pete, Tom, whoever else?"

Ryan shook his head.

"No one else?"

Ryan nodded.

Spencer tossed his bangs off his face, smoothing them with a restless hand. "I should say I love you too."

Ryan felt sudden, hot tears prick at his eyes. "Because it's true though, right?"

Spencer laughed harshly, but his voice was soft when he said, "Yeah, Ryan. Because it's true."

Hesitant, but needing to be brave, Ryan reached out and took Spencer's hand again. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I'm so fucking sorry I made you wait so long."

The lights changed and cars rushed by them on the street.

Spencer took a deep breath and squeezed.

\---

They took a cab home. The rain battered down against the roof of the car and after a quick look of approval from Spencer, Ryan folded himself into Spencer's side, tucking his chin onto Spencer's shoulder. He tried to keep his breath even as he waited. After three intakes of breath Spencer shifted his arm out from under Ryan and wrapped it around him. Ryan closed his eyes and smiled.

Part Two; Brendon

Brendon met Tom Conrad at his cousin Sara's wedding. She was one of the only people in his family still talking to him by that point, so he'd gone even though he hadn't known anyone else and weddings always made him think of his mother, the way she cried even when she was just watching weddings on TV. He was walking around the edge of the church property and saw Tom taking pictures of the highway in the distance. Tom had come with one of the bridesmaids, a girl he'd only met once but whose smile he'd liked enough to agree to attend a wedding as her date just to see it again.

As far as Brendon knew, she and Tom never went on another date, but he called Brendon a week later, not explaining how he'd gotten the number, just saying he had something to show Brendon. Brendon wasn't the sort of person who went on mysterious outings with people he barely knew, but at that time he had been particularly interested in not being the sort of person he was, and so he had gone.

The something Tom had wanted to show him had turned out to be Jon Walker.

Brendon and Tom had talked for most of the reception, glasses of champagne half-drunk and sitting on the lawn talking about different weddings they had been to, how it always seemed like you knew less people than you didn't. They had talked about other things, too, nothing particularly substantial, but apparently it had been enough for Tom to decide he liked Brendon, because Tom welcomed him that afternoon like an old friend, introducing Brendon to Jon as if their meeting had been far too long in coming.

They sat together and drank coffee in the Starbucks where Jon worked, and Brendon watched the way Jon's fingers flexed around his too-hot mug and sipped his own coffee as he fell in love.

\---

That was about four years ago, and in time Brendon hadn't altered his assessment. He'd always been someone who felt things too strongly, falling into love with people for the strangest, smallest reasons, wanting to be with people, even if they were just the people he was friends with, all the time. He couldn't help being that way, and after moving out of his parent's house and heading out on his own for university, he'd given up asking himself to. He loved people; he wanted to hear about their lives and tell them about his; he wanted big groups of people around him at all times and he wanted all-night conversations with intimate groups of his best friends. He actually had friends, since undergrad, and maybe it was because he hadn't ever had them before that he took them so seriously, that he let them matter so much, filling up other holes his family had left behind.

He was aware of that, aware of himself; he just didn't see the point in trying to change it anymore. It had never worked, anyway, and in the broader pool of Chicago and the university, he had actually managed to find people who didn't ask him to.

He loved Jon instantly and intensely, but he didn't really mind that they were only friends. It was more than he was used to, and being Jon's friend was a lot better than being most people's friend. Next to Jon, Tom was the closest thing Brendon had to real family again, and for all that he loved Jon best in the world he never forgot the way Tom picked him out of a crowd and saw something special in him. Never forgot the way Tom invited Brendon into his life with casual arm on his shoulders and a confident grin on his face. Tom and Jon had been friends their whole lives, but Brendon never felt left out of the loop and rhythm of their friendship in all the time the three of them spent together, playing around with starting bands and getting themselves through school, through shitty jobs and, in Tom and occasionally Jon's case, shitty relationships.

When Tom had moved away from Chicago, Brendon had had a month-long panic attack, missing Tom and suddenly certain that with Tom gone Jon would stop wanting to hang out with him.

Jon responded to this crisis by asking Brendon to move in with him.

Brendon's answer had been to throw his arms around Jon. Jon hugged him back and in that moment Brendon allowed himself to let go of his fears that he was going to lose Jon.

What he hadn't counted on was Ryan Ross.

\---

Ryan was initially indifferent and then overtly hostile to him. He insisted he didn't know Brendon's name for weeks after he and Spencer moved in, and he looked at Brendon like he was so much unwanted dirt on the bottom of his shoe whenever Brendon opened his mouth or even just entered a room.

He was prissy and elitist, and Jon fell for him instantly. They played guitar together and got stoned and watched movies all night, even though apparently Ryan was destined to be the next whoever in the world of American literature. Jon never asked Brendon to smoke up with him, and Brendon had always sort of assumed it was one of those things Jon only liked to do with Tom while they had their cheap cameras out and wanted to take stupid pictures of each other's feet or whatever. Since the introduction of Ryan Ross, Brendon had been forced to reevaluate that assumption. Maybe it was just because Brendon was babbly and spazzy enough as it was and Jon didn't think he needed the extra help.

Whatever the reason, Brendon was never invited, and even when Jon waved him over at other times, when they were just messing around on guitars or hanging out in the kitchen, Ryan always glared at Brendon or smirked at him until he went away. Jon had never been a complete asshole, so Brendon tried to assume he just didn't notice. Possibly Ryan's looks and scarily sharp tongue were enough of a distraction.

The only thing that made Ryan's presence tolerable was that it came with Spencer Smith.

Spencer was kind of exactly what Brendon wanted to be when he grew up. He was in control of himself and he seemed to know about everything, all the mysteries of the adult world that always eluded Brendon. He was sassy and intimidating, but he was also funny and had a maternal streak a mile wide, the kind of person who caring for other people came naturally to. Brendon wasn't proud of it, exactly, but he was man enough to admit he took total advantage of it.

He missed Jon, and Ryan kept almost making him cry just with his eyebrows, and he was in a million classes, and Tom was gone and sometimes it felt like Spencer and his willingness to bake Brendon cookies in the middle of the night were all he had left in the world.

It actually took him over a month of living with both of them to realize that that was exactly why Ryan hated him.

Once he got over his shock that it wasn't merely that Ryan, like pretty much everyone Brendon had known growing up, hated Brendon for being Brendon, he gave hating Ryan a shot anyway. Because even though Ryan was nicer to him now, in his way, he was still a Jon-stealer, and worse, he clearly didn't even notice what he had. He was so busy worrying about Spencer possibly paying attention to someone that wasn't him like, ever, he didn't even see that Jon was sitting right there already half in love with him.

Brendon was seriously considering calling Ryan's department and asking them if they knew they were giving generous academic funding to a complete fucking idiot.

\---

Continuing to hate Ryan proved more difficult than Brendon had anticipated. He was still a snob and a Jon-stealing weirdo, but he was also awkwardly sweet at the oddest moments, funny at the most unlikely times and generous in a very particular way. Once he stopped actively disliking Brendon on principle, Brendon began to realize why Jon looked at Ryan so wonderingly, why Spencer looked at him with endless, unswerving devotion.

Ryan wasn't like most people, and he didn't try to be. There was something startlingly brave about his strangeness, about the unapologetic way he conducted himself, not asking people to like it, just silently telling them to fuck-off if they didn't.

Brendon didn't know much about Ryan's childhood, except that it had been awful in ways you didn't ever want to talk about again once you escaped them. Brendon knew that look, the one he sometimes caught in Ryan's eyes when he looked at Spencer or Jon or even, lately, occasionally Brendon. It wasn't even suspicion, exactly, just startled happiness, not dismissing the unexpected good fortune, but taking it in greedily, soaking up as much as was being given. Once he understood that, it was harder for Brendon to hate Ryan for taking what he could from Jon even though he didn't really understand why it was being given, for taking it even though he was clearly Spencer's in every way that counted and maybe some Ryan himself hadn't counted yet.

That was enough to loosen Brendon's grudge, but it wasn't until the Ryan caught Brendon attacking Spencer with well-aimed tickles in the middle of the living room that Brendon's heart stuttered to a stop and then started again in time with the flash of Ryan's sudden, shy smile. When Ryan had happened upon them, Brendon had expected a return to Ryan's old, glaring ways, but instead Ryan had paused only for a hesitant moment before joining in, attacking Spencer with long-fingered skill that had Spencer rolling on the floor and cursing their names. Brendon didn't believe it for a second, and when Brendon answered Ryan's quick, questioning gaze with a confident nod, Ryan seemed to take him at his word.

Something shifted that day, and when Ryan helped hoist Spencer up off the floor, he glanced at Brendon and Brendon took it as the permission it was, reaching out and offering Spencer his other hand. Spencer took it, and together Brendon and Ryan lifted him up.

\---

Once Ryan got over feeling threatened and Brendon got over attempting to hate him, Brendon became aware the Ryan had adopted him as some sort of protege or assistant or whatever. He ordered Brendon around like it was for Brendon's own good, his imperious tone carrying an undertone that seemed to say, "see what I'm doing for you?" It was hard to explain why it didn't make Brendon hate Ryan all over again, except to say that what Ryan was trying to teach Brendon seemed mostly to be about how to make Spencer giggle more effectively and how to get the best food out of Spencer at the weirdest times. It was like they were a secret team of stealth Spencer aficionados and Ryan was training him. Considering that Ryan hated most people on spec for just smiling at Spencer, and had taken almost two months to stop hating Brendon for managing to do more than that, Brendon was pretty smug about this turn of events.

He wondered why Jon wasn't being indoctrinated into Ryan's little Spencer society until he realized that while Ryan had gotten over Brendon, Spencer hadn't really gotten over Jon.

In fairness to Spencer, Jon was kind of straightforwardly in love with Ryan, whereas Brendon prided himself on being credibly sneaky with his feelings for Spencer. Or at least, he managed to tinge it without enough ridiculousness that it could be dismissed as nothing more than a lighthearted and passing crush. It helped that Brendon had been practicing not showing people he was in love with them for a good portion of his life, and had especially solid training in the past four years keeping that fact off Jon's radar.

Jon was honest and direct by default; and as such was subject to Spencer's continued suspicion.

It made Jon sad, and Brendon wanted to be angrier with Spencer about it, or at least go back to being angry with Ryan, but neither of those tactics worked very well because Ryan didn't seem to know he was hurting anyone and Spencer clearly didn't want to be hurting anyone. He just wanted Ryan to stop sleeping with other people and stop flirting with Jon all the time.

Brendon could relate.

\---

Brendon's good will was tested when he came home and found Jon stranded on the floor looking like he was about to do that thing Jon did instead of cry which involved him squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering to himself under his breath. Brendon would have almost preferred it if Jon actually cried. At least then he'd be able to make soothing, "hey don't cry," noises instead of trying to figure out something to say other than, "hey don't do that sad and weird thing you do?" That was just too many words and none of them could be said in a soft sing-songy voice.

Jon looked up at him and croaked, "Hey, Bren," and Brendon crossed the distance between them, dropping his piano books haphazardly on the floor and kneeling at Jon's side.

"I'm hugging you now," he announced as sort of a warning.

Jon nodded and grabbed at Brendon's forearm, helping him along.

They stayed like that for a long time, and Jon didn't say anything much beyond, "I had to be the one to fucking tell him, can you believe that? I had to point out exactly who he could have that wasn't me," but Brendon could pretty much fill in the rest. He hadn't managed to explain to Jon that Ryan and Spencer weren't technically together, because the fact that they weren't didn't make Ryan any less off limits and telling Jon would have been rubbing salt in the wound, Brendon had felt. But the tightness of Jon's fingers around Brendon's arms let him know Jon had finally figured it out. As Brendon had suspected it would, this revelation had clearly only made Jon feel worse.

Ryan's shoes were in the front, so he was clearly home, and probably hiding somewhere. Brendon imagined the conversation they must have had and didn't exactly blame him, but even if he hadn't meant to, he'd still done this to Jon, and for that night at least, Brendon wasn't so ready to let Ryan off the hook.

He was about to ease down into a full sitting position beside Jon when he heard the floor creak. Brendon looked up and there Ryan was, looking so frozen and bleak Brendon very nearly lost his resolve. As it was, he thought he only half managed to make his face convey his righteous disapproval. Either way, Ryan shrank away and Brendon went back to holding Jon tight.

When Jon finally pulled away he managed a small smile for Brendon's benefit.

"I'll be alright," he assured Brendon almost sincerely.

Brendon nodded and patted Jon's head. "I never liked him anyway."

Jon laughed. "Yeah."

Neither of them mentioned this was no longer true.

\---

Ryan and Spencer were, it transpired, even harder to hate when they were actually dating than they had been when they had only appeared to be dating. They behaved almost exactly the same, but there was a brightness in Spencer's eyes, in his cheeks, that hadn't been there before. There was a pride in Ryan's face, a sense of intense satisfaction that was linked inextricably to the flush in Spencer's cheeks, the way his voice seemed to sparkle, as though he was laughing all his words. They touched more, too - something Brendon wouldn't have believed possible until he saw it for himself. That was down to Ryan, too - reaching out instead of simply waiting expectantly for Spencer to come to him. Which he always had, of course - so maybe it wasn't really that they touched more - but simply that it was more constant, with less gaps visible in between.

It should have hurt, Brendon expected that Jon at least would need some time to adjust, but it seemed that he, like Brendon, was powerless in the face of such concentrated, infectious happiness.

Brendon hummed to himself and shook his head. When you're in love the whole world's in love with you.

\---

The other major upside to Ryan and Spencer finally waking up and smelling the married was that Spencer finally eased up on Jon.

Well, he more than eased up. He in fact went into some sort of domestic overdrive, wherein he started planning elaborate Sunday brunches for the four of them, started writing little messages to Brendon and Jon on the fridge if he hadn't seen them that day, things like I cut up some vegetables for you guys, they're in the fridge! or scrabble tournament tonight? y/n.

And that was another thing, the board games. Brendon had always been more of a video game type of guy, mostly because his family had insisted on family game nights, and after Brendon became everyone in his family's least favorite person those became a lot less fun. But playing Scrabble with Ryan and Spencer and Jon was a completely different matter. It was the only game they played, because Ryan refused to play anything else for the obvious reason that he always won. That shouldn't have been nearly as entertaining as it was, it should have at least gotten old, but it didn't. Ryan was brutal and tyrannical when he played, bringing up obscure rules and hitting people on the hand when they accidentally played out of turn. He rubbed his hands together maniacally like an honest-to-god cartoon villain as he crafted his victory; he even cackled quietly to himself when he drew a particularly good set of tiles, which he seemed to have a preternatural sense about.

A couple weeks in Jon commented on this and Spencer rolled his eyes, saying, "He knows what some of them are, they have little scuffs or marks on them. We've been playing with with this game for years." Brendon was outraged for about a second, before he realized Ryan would probably destroy them all anyway, even if he didn't have this extra advantage and, more to the point, Ryan winning by leaps and bounds was kind of the point anyway. Brendon suspected Ryan wouldn't have been nearly as fun if he was losing; he knew from personal experience Ryan was actually pretty mean when he wasn't getting what he wanted, and in something as trivial as a game of Scrabble, Brendon liked to watch how happy Ryan got when he was.

Scrabble night also kicked ass because Spencer made snacks, flavored and occasionally (when Brendon gave him the eyes) candied popcorn and Hershey kiss cookies and banana bread with nuttella. Brendon didn't really know how Spencer found the time to prepare all that, as well as the homemade granola bars he slipped into their messenger bags before they left for work or school, and the mini lasagnas and chili that were always left in the freezer so they could grab them on their way out or heat them up when he was out at school until late himself. He asked Ryan about it and Ryan elbowed him like he did when Brendon wasn't living up to Ryan's strange expectations, as though poking him in some fashion would correct the mistake.

"It's what he's in school for, jackass. He has to practice this stuff anyway, and it just so happens that he's a huge control freak who wants to take care of everything ever anyway, so he gets to combine his two greatest loves and pretty much do it for course credit."

Brendon blinked to express his confusion. He thought it might be a habit he picked up from Ryan. "Spencer is fattening us up for class credit?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "And because he's a total mother hen, but yeah."

Maybe it should have, but it totally didn't cheapen what Spencer was doing. After all, as much as it might have helped Spencer in his classes, it was still Brendon's name on the tub of caramel corn when he got home from a cold, shitty day, still his backpack that got planted with a Tupperware full of celery logs with little raisin ants or homemade yogurt on days when Brendon had to be at school for 8 hours minimum. And it was still Jon who benefited from Spencer's ongoing attempts to perfect his own variation of Chicago style pizza and for whom he was constantly reworking his spicy chicken wing recipe.

Brendon had absolutely no complaints in that area, except maybe to say that if Spencer could have maybe considered being slightly less awesome all the damn time, that probably would have helped Brendon get over him. Although maybe not, because even when Ryan wasn't being that awesome, he still made Jon's eyes widen in that wistful, wanting way, still made Jon's hands twitch before he drew them carefully into himself. Brendon wasn't sure Ryan and Spencer noticed those things anymore; if Spencer ever had--at least where Brendon was concerned--he would have been surprised. But Brendon was still watching Jon carefully enough to see, still knew himself enough to not bother pretending he was anything other than more in love with both of them by the day. And maybe, if he was being honest, not just Spencer and Jon anymore. It was getting harder and harder, as the days went by, passing into weeks, to separate how he felt about any one of them from how he felt about them as a whole. The three of them, the four of them together.

He would have worried about it more, but then suddenly it was November, and his life, all of their lives, exploded in a tangle of exams and papers and lack of sleep, and there really wasn't time to think about much else. He got in a little mopey pining when he could, staring over a pile of textbooks (why had he thought combining a physics degree with his musical theory was such a brilliant idea, why) and wishing for things he couldn't have. But even then, he liked to use his time productively and didn't bother wasting extra time worrying about why it was that he thought about Ryan's hands when he wasn't thinking about Jon's arms or Spencer's mouth.

\---

Occasionally Brendon saw Ryan on campus, but their departments were in different buildings so it didn't happen very often. When they did run into each other, it was usually in the line for coffee at one of two campus locations that sold Starbucks coffee along with their own weaker brew. Ryan was still going through a newsboy-cap phase, and when he saw Brendon he tended to adjust his cap over his eyes slightly, some kind of old-fashioned hello. Brendon would wave back, and if they were in line together they'd talk a little; generally speaking they managed to find common ground making fun of Spencer, or occasionally - with Ryan being strangely careful - Jon, but they never really made a point to stop and hang out. Mostly this was because they were too busy, both just ducking in for a refuel before more classes or hours bent over their desks marking papers or writing them.

One cold Tuesday morning near the end of November, however, Brendon was already on his way out of the cafeteria when he heard someone clear their throat and, turning to locate the origin of the sound, he saw Ryan beckoning him over with the curl of bare fingers over a gloved palm. Brendon rolled his eyes a little at the imperious, confident look on Ryan's face, but shrugged it off and obeyed the summons.

"Hey, man," he said, sliding into the empty chair across from Ryan.

Ryan smiled vaguely and took long sip of his coffee. Brendon leaned over a little, looking into the cup, and decided it might have been tea. Ryan seemed to think tea went better with his overall aesthetic.

Brendon was drinking coffee with three packs of sweet-n-low and a large amount of cream. He didn't really know what that said about his aesthetic. He adjusted his glasses and looked at Ryan expectantly.

"What's up?"

Ryan, who had actually started reading his book again, looked up at Brendon with a mildly startled expression.

"Hmm?"

Brendon shook his head and fiddled with his glasses more, taking them off and putting them back on. "You called me over here, what's up?" He tried not to make it sound like he minded, he didn't, but his exasperation crept in a little. Watching Ryan be perpetually vague was only fun when he was doing it at other people.

Ryan blinked. "Oh. No. I mean, I didn't call you over for like... any specific reason. I just saw you there and I was here already and I thought," he shrugged, "we should sit together."

Brendon digested this carefully. There was something off about Ryan's tone.

"We never have before," Brendon pointed out neutrally.

Ryan shifted his shoulders, "Well, right. But that's weird. We live together," his eyes flicked up at Brendon's face before returning to gazing down at his tea, "we're friends."

Brendon was almost touched for a second, and then he realized what the weirdness was. Ryan wasn't talking like himself, he was talking like he was parroting back something that had been said to him.

Brendon sighed. "Spencer put you up to this?"

Ryan frowned like he was considering denying it, and said, "Spencer doesn't tell me what to do."

Brendon raised his eye brows dryly. After almost three months living with Ryan, he was getting pretty good at it.

Ryan actually smiled at himself for a half second before throwing one of Brendon's empty sugar packets at him. "Shut up," he said primly. "He doesn't. He just sometimes points out areas in which I could stand to be a little more human and if I happen to agree then I occasionally take his advice."

Ryan was working the tone of injured dignity for all it was worth, and out of respect for his efforts, Brendon managed not to laugh. Besides, the fact that Ryan, one way or another, thought he was worth the effort made Brendon feel kind of warm and tingly on the inside.

"We don't even have to talk to each other," Ryan added, like it sweetened the deal.

Brendon looked over at his bag, stuffed with textbooks he had to make sense of, and huffed a laugh. "Well, if you put it that way."

Ryan immediately ducked back behind his book, but for a second, once he had gotten his own work spread out on the table, Brendon could feel Ryan smiling at him.

\---

Classes ended when November did, but that in no way meant Brendon had less work to do. He had three exams to write and about 100 exams to grade, and similar things were true for Ryan and Spencer, but this fact did not seem to in any way diminish Spencer's rather abrupt adoption of the Christmas spirit. On the first of December he announced he wanted to decorate the house, and while Brendon shrugged awkwardly and Ryan rolled his eyes, Spencer found a fierce ally in Jon. Brendon had always known Jon enjoyed the holiday season, despite working at Starbucks and having to tell a million people all about their holiday drinks, but he was still a little alarmed when Jon walked down the stairs in a fuzzy wool sweater with a snowflake on it one day and a kitten wearing a Santa hat on another. The choking sound Ryan involuntarily made when he saw Jon in it for the first time was pretty much worth it, though.

Jon had kind of always harbored a secret love for bad sweaters, Brendon totally loved it about him, but the holiday season seemed to rob Spencer of his otherwise excellent taste. He saw Jon in his Santa kitten sweater and his face actually burst into a spontaneous grin, his eyes lighting up, and he literally cooed over the kitten, poking Jon in the belly appreciatively as he did so. Brendon glanced at Ryan worriedly, but he was just watching with an amused look on his face.

Brendon sidled over and leaned in, "Is he like this every year?"

Ryan rolled his eyes affectionately and nodded, "Pretty much. It's the only real holiday he likes. You won't see him this excited again until May 14."

"What happens May 14?"

Ryan looked at Brendon carefully, and then seemed to decide he was allowed to know. "It's our anniversary. Not of the day we met but the day we decided to be best friends, you know..." he smiled like he knew how it sounded but didn't care, "forever. I was going to switch schools at the end of that year and Spence had been all weird about it, not hanging out with me so much and I thought he was just getting more into kids in his own grade and stuff, but that day I missed school so I biked over to see him in the evening and he was in his backyard on his tire swing looking so... mutinous and he was almost crying - like Spence gets when he's really frustrated. When he saw me he just got off the swing and sort of tackled me and said he didn't care if I was going to a different school with cool older kids, I wasn't allowed to get a new best friend, he wouldn't let me." Ryan bit his lip a little, watching Spencer even as he told the story, lost in the memory. "He kept me pinned to the grass, with his arms crossed, so determined, and I remember thinking it was ridiculous that he was working so hard to keep me there cause like - where the fuck else would I go?" He shook his head. "Anyway, I promised, and he let me up, and ever since then, I think because he thinks he has to make it worth my while or something since he, you know, forced me into it," rolling his eyes, "he plans a special day for us and there's always a theme and presents and shit." Ryan grinned helplessly. "It's kind of the best day ever."

Brendon was quiet for a really long time. He cleared his throat, "You seriously didn't realize he was completely in love with you?"

Ryan did the thing he did instead of blushing, ducking his head and tugging on his left ear. "Shut up."

Brendon laughed, but did.

\---

With Jon on his side, Spencer successfully festooned every surface of their house with holiday-appropriate items. They hung a wreath on the front door, scattered little snowmen figurines and sprigs of holly Spencer produced from god-knew-where on the tables and windowsills, and hung stockings up the staircase banister. Brendon frequently came home to Christmas carols and festive jazz floating softly around the house.

Jon was especially busy at work, but he dedicated almost all his free time to learning every Christmas baking tip Spencer was willing to bestow. They made peppermint cookies and fruitcake that defied all laws of god and man to be actually delicious (which, according to Jon, contained obscene amounts of brandy.) They practiced stuffing recipes, much to Brendon's ongoing delight, and made truffles, chocolate cherries and shortbread they wrapped carefully and kept in the freezer for the occasional snack, but mostly to save for closer to the actual day.

Somewhere in between baking and decorating, Jon and Spencer became friends, the real, special kind, the way that Brendon had been worried they never would, not with how they both felt for Ryan between them. They liked a lot of the same music, not just Christmas tunes, liked the same kinds of weather, liked crashing in front of the same kinds of movies at the end of the day. Jon made Spencer grin and Spencer made Jon chuckle, his special Jon chuckle, low and pleased, and they'd spend hours talking at the kitchen table while things baked in the oven.

It gave Brendon more time to hang out with Ryan, and the more they hung out the more Brendon enjoyed it, but he still missed Jon. Hell, he missed Spencer, too. He was also worried Ryan would be jealous, that he would prickle against Jon the way he once had against Brendon, but he took the whole thing much more in stride than Brendon ever could have predicted. Brendon supposed it had to do with some special holiday dispensation, and further assumed that things were different now that Ryan and Spencer were officially together. Such a thing clearly had the benefit of making them both feel much more secure, because whenever Spencer looked up and noticed how much time Ryan and Brendon were spending together he always just smiled and went back to what he was doing.

It was possible that in all this extra time he and Ryan were spending together, Ryan caught the occasional wistful glance on Brendon's face when he watched Spencer and Jon together, wishing he could make Jon laugh like that, or make Spencer smile that that, but if Ryan ever noticed anything he never mentioned it; he only smiled at Brendon a bit sadly and then carried on as if nothing had happened.

He appreciated that Ryan wasn't jealous, not of Jon and not of Brendon himself, but it still hurt to see the way Jon was falling for another person he couldn't have, all the while feeling nothing but friendship for the person he could.

\---

With all of them being home more in the December break came more group dinners. Jon still had work to schedule around, but Spencer was always very determined to make sure they waited for Jon to come home before they sat down together. Brendon thought it was nice, and it gave them all a chance to hang out together at least once during the day, and unlike the family dinners he remembered, he almost never wanted to run away from the table so he could cry upstairs. It was possible Brendon had been kind of an overwrought kid.

The thing was that... well, aside from the fact that sometimes Jon got home really late - but really Brendon never minded waiting - but it all seemed a bit... Well, it was hard to explain, and it took almost two weeks before Brendon was even slightly sure he wasn't just making things up, but it kind of seemed like Spencer was trying to set a mood at the dinners. Like, a romantic mood. Earlier that month Spencer and Jon had bought some red and green beeswax candles to put around the house, and two of them were on the table, which was fine, but at the dinners Spencer always dimmed the lights and lit the candles. And he'd play music and sit them two by two, always with Jon and Brendon across from each other. That much and still Brendon probably would have thought he was imagining things, but sometimes he'd get kicks under the table he was pretty sure were meant for Spencer, because Ryan would look at him guiltily for a second before his face turned haughty and uninterested again. Brendon was so past being fooled by that shit.

And it wasn't just the dinners. It was movies in the living room under blankets with the lights off, nothing they hadn't done before, but it was the kind of movies Spencer picked, movies indie enough for Ryan not to turn up his nose, but always sneakily sweet, odd little romances and unexpected love. On one Friday night Spencer even tried to borrow his friend Gabe's car so they could go to a drive-in, but Ryan had boycotted that idea so hard Spencer had given up. Privately, Brendon agreed. It was freaking December. Drive-ins probably weren't even open, and if they were, well, that was just plain crazy.

The real kicker, though, was the mistletoe. At first, Brendon wasn't particularly suspicious because all the other decorating had been done by Jon and Spencer cooperatively, so when he opened his bedroom door and noticed a thing of mistletoe hanging over it he just shrugged and put it down to another act of spontaneous holiday good cheer. But then that evening, when he went down to the practice space he, Ryan and Jon had set up in the basement, he noticed another one and stood under it for a minute, looking at Jon, who was already there tuning his bass.

"You don't think this is a little over the top, Walker?" he teased, eyes flitting up to the mistletoe for emphasis.

Jon followed Brendon's eyes, and two things sort of happened at once on his face; there was a strange flash of hopefulness which was clamped down almost immediately and covered with confusion.

"I didn't put that up."

Brendon frowned. "You and Spencer didn't do it?"

Jon shook his head. "Naw. I mean, Spence must have, but I wasn't there."

Brendon said, "Huh," and left it at that, busying himself with his guitar, talking idly about songs he wanted to learn with Jon.

But he thought about it again, later, when he passed Jon's room on his way to bed and noticed one hanging over Jon's door as well.

He sucked in a surprised breath and reminded himself not to jump to possibly crazy conclusions just cause he was tired and feeling a little sad. It wasn't Spencer's fault he still loved Christmas, was still able to associate it with simple, happy memories.

Knowing it would keep him up all night if he wasn't sure, Brendon abandoned the path to his room and started creeping around the house, trying to locate other mistletoe sprigs. He came up empty on the second floor and was just tiptoeing quietly downstairs when he was stopped by the sound of Ryan's harsh whisper coming from the kitchen.

"Spence, you've gotta stop doing this, I'm serious."

"Ryan, I'm just--"

"Look, I know what you're trying to do, and I get it, okay, I do. But it's not... it's not going to happen just cause we want it to, okay? You really have to stop. It's hard enough on him as it is."

Brendon didn't stick around to hear the rest.

\---

By the next morning, most of his embarrassment-fueled anger had burnt itself out, and he was just sad. It wasn't even that he didn't get it. It made sense that Spencer would try to set Jon up with him. That he and Ryan would be worried about Jon, would want him to find someone. In particular, of course, Spencer wanted Jon to stop liking Ryan, but he probably also wanted Jon to be happy, and Brendon was available. Brendon was there. And hey, he and Jon got along great. They were close, they meant things to each other. He got that Spencer would see that and wonder why it couldn't be more, why he shouldn't try to nudge it a little. So it wasn't that he was mad about that.

It was just that it was fucking pointless, and Brendon kind of wished he wasn't currently being forced to remember how much.

\---

When he'd first met Jon he'd actually thought, Hey. I could actually do this. I could charm this Jon Walker character and it could be awesome.

It had almost seemed like that was Tom's plan, like the coffee thing was a surprise!blind date, even. Jon had been kind of calmly flirty and Brendon had attempted to flirt not-too-spazzily back. Tom had made several excuses to leave the table for long periods of time, and in one of them Jon had leaned over and said, "This is Conrad's idea of subtle, I guess," and Brendon had felt like he'd been let in on the best secret ever.

Jon had had to go back to work shortly after that, but Brendon had felt a thrill of expectation, of promise. In the weeks that followed, he'd spent a lot of time with Jon and Tom, always waiting for it to happen again, for it to just be him and Jon again, but Tom stuck stubbornly to Jon's side to the point where Brendon was forced to conclude he had been hearing with his hopeful ear that afternoon at the coffee shop.

It hadn't been enough for him to give up completely, though; he loved Jon, was the thing. It happened right away and it wouldn't go away, and when Jon didn't make a move Brendon was forced to take more drastic measures. He called Jon up, all by himself, and invited him over to his dorm, because that year Brendon had a roommate who was always crashing at his girlfriend's place and Brendon knew he would have the place to himself. Jon had agreed to come over right away; he'd sounded eager, happy Brendon had called him. Stupidly, Brendon had let that give him hope.

He'd picked special music, changed his shirt four times, styled his hair three different ways and washed his sheets that afternoon. He'd put on fucking aftershave. Or well, okay, vanilla deodorant, but whatever. He'd smelled awesome.

Jon arrived on time and Brendon managed not to like, knock anything over in front of him or blurt out inconvenient things like "I love you!" or "Let's have sex!" All in all, he'd felt he was doing pretty well for himself until his phone rang and he made the crazy mistake of answering it.

Looking back, he can't imagine what made him stop in the middle of telling Jon a story about when he realized he wanted to learn the play the guitar to grab the phone when it rang. But he did, and the voice on the other end made him come down hard, hitting the bed with a thud.

It was his dad, and for fifteen minutes Brendon sat there and listened to his father talk like it hadn't been almost a year since they'd spoken, answering in short, obedient phrases to his father's questions about his grades, if he was considering finally changing into a more sensible major. He'd finally heard Jon move behind him, and it was like getting snapped back into himself; he'd swallowed against a thousand things he wanted to say and just told his dad he couldn't talk anymore, stammering that he had to go. He'd hung up.

He sat there and shook, trying to get over the sound of his dad's voice, so unexpected and yet so familiar, that awkward, slightly disapproving tone he knew so well. Somehow he'd managed to forget all over again that Jon was in the room until suddenly Jon's hand was touching his shoulder and Brendon had flinched back violently, shocked out of his reverie.

His eyes had darted guiltily around the room and Jon had taken a careful step back, then two.

"It's okay," Jon said quietly. Brendon still couldn't think of what he had meant.

He swallowed, trying not to give in to the burning in his throat. "I'm sorry, that was my... my dad. We haven't talked in awhile. I'm not..." He shrugged. "We don't really see the world the same way."

Jon nodded carefully. "Yeah."

"Sorry to weird you out."

Jon shook his head quickly, "Bren, you don't have apologize. Really. It's not your fault, and it's not like you could have known he was going to call anyway."

Brendon had laughed, short and derisive, "Should have, though. God, it's like he knew, like he was trying to stop me."

He'd meant to only be saying it to himself, but Jon had heard, acted like Brendon was saying it to him.

He'd taken another step back from Brendon in the room. "Hey, you don't have to worry about that. I mean, it's not. Me and you, we're friends, you know, Brendon? There's nothing wrong with that, that's all we're doing here. Just hanging out. Don't worry."

That had been one too many humiliations for Brendon to roll with just then, and he'd pretty much curled up in a ball and asked Jon to let himself out, cursing himself silently and ignoring Jon's reassurances that he had nothing to be worried about. Of course he didn't. It wasn't like someone like Jon would ever like him like that anyway.

Miraculously, they'd stayed friends. Tom had never said anything about it, never looked at Brendon weird, and neither had Jon. But Brendon remembered. He never tried to force his feelings on Jon again.

Part Three; Jon

Jon met Tom Conrad at a Cubs game when they were eleven years old. Tom and a group of his friends were sitting a row ahead of Jon and his brother, using words Jon barely knew and talking trash about the other team. Jon could no longer remember who the other team were, but he remembered laughing to himself at Tom's comments, the way he stood out in a crowd of other boys, the smartest mouth, grin glinting mischievously in the sun. In the sixth inning a fowl ball made it into the stands and Jon and Tom jumped for it at the same time, colliding into each other and both missing the ball.

Tom elbowed Jon in the stomach for the loss and then grabbed his hand, pulling him up and looking him over before declaring Jon his consolation prize.

Jon tended to think of that as either the best or worst day of his life, depending on what Tom had done for him lately.

\---

When he first introduced Jon to Brendon, Jon spent three solid weeks thinking it was his best day ever, meeting Tom. Brendon was bright and he had infectious enthusiasm for practically everything. He had a temper that intrigued Jon, expressing itself in unexpected ways, in humor, in short mean laughs. He was about ten kinds of pretty, with a criminal mouth and great hands, a hilarious yet endearing haircut and a frankly exceptional ass. He was goofy and didn't seem afraid to show it, a huge nerd and equally open about it. He liked what he liked and he championed his preferences, sang at the top of his lungs and attacked life with energy, with passion. He made Jon want to do great things, made him feel capable, feel bold.

Then Brendon had a Mormon freak-out on their first almost-date, and instead of getting over him and becoming Brendon's friend like Jon promised, he ended up tending a foolish, impossible crush until it eventually grew into something there was no getting rid of, into love.

Brendon proved a pretty incredible friend, unrequited gay love notwithstanding, so Jon pretty much forgave Tom for introducing him to someone he knew was perfect for Jon who Jon could never actually have.

\---

Then it happened again.

Mostly out of petulance, Jon waited about a week after moving in to call Tom.

Tom opened with, "Hey man, what's up?"

Jon opened with, "I hate you."

Jon's tone was flat and serious enough that Tom actually sounded worried when he responded, "What - why?"

Jon paused to let the depths of his righteous anger settle in before answering, "Ryan Ross."

Tom laughed until Jon hung up.

\---

Spencer cottoned onto Jon's thing for Ryan almost before Jon did. Actually, it was kind of Spencer's fault Jon realized he had a crush on Ryan in the first place. It wasn't until Jon realized Spencer wasn't an asshole, but that in fact he was just an asshole to Jon, that Jon was forced to consider why that might be. He was in the middle of a bong rip at the time, staring at Ryan's face, pondering the mysteries of the universe and Spencer Smith's totally unprovoked hatred of him when Ryan suddenly giggled, probably at nothing in particular, and Jon's heart lurched and he thought, oh. Oh, shit.

After that first phone call, he didn't talk to Tom for a month.

Meddlesome asshole.

\---

Tom didn't have the patience or memory to be as stubborn as Jon, so he cracked first, calling thirty-two days into Jon's disciplinary silence.

"Two times," Jon said before even saying hello. "That's two times you've done this to me now."

"Shit, Ryan's not Mormon too, is he?" Tom said, sounding genuinely concerned.

"No, asshole," Jon said, a little disbelievingly.

Tom cleared his throat thoughtfully, "Well no, I guess he wouldn't be, what with him sleeping with me and all."

Jon nearly hung up again, but he was apparently a glutton for punishment, "You slept with Ryan?" Worst day ever. Seriously.

"Well, yeah, dude. I mean, I know it might make the wedding toast a little awkward but at least I can make credible jokes about the size of Ryan's--"

"There isn't going to be a wedding. Fucker."

"Why not?"

"Because Ryan has a boyfriend. Jesus, you didn't know that?"

"When I had a random one-night stand with him in Jersey? No, Jon, I did not know that."

"But Spencer was the one you made all the arrangements with! He tracked you down on the internet to interrogate you about your relationship with Ryan!"

Tom laughed. "Ryan's dating Spencer now? What a tenacious kid. Good for him."

"You are fired, I mean it this time. Brendon will be my new best friend, effective immediately."

Tom made a sad noise. Jon couldn't tell if he was making fun of him or not. "Aww, Jonny, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He sighed. "Two times now."

"Just trying to look out for you,"

That time, Jon had no trouble telling that Tom was serious.

"I know."

"Come visit me. NJ is ridiculous, you'd love it."

"Can't." Jon's voice felt heavy in against his tongue.

Tom sighed knowingly. "Bren?"

Jon swallowed.

"And Ryan too, huh?"

He nodded and counted on Tom to know even if he couldn't hear.

"Oh, Jonny," Tom said, and started singing him a song.

Tom's voice was epically terrible, as was his song selection, as always, and he belted it loudly until finally Jon laughed.

"Don't make me wait a month again to grace you with my melodious voice, you dramatic fuck," Tom chided him, serious underneath all that.

Jon smiled at the empty room. "I won't."

\---

 

After the talk that amounted to Jon guiding Ryan into Spencer's ready arms, Jon let himself hold onto Brendon long and hard, losing himself in Brendon's smell, in the quiet nonsense he spoke, in the feel of his arms, stronger than they looked, wrapped around him. Considering what he'd forced himself to give up in the same breath as sudden, blinding hope had erupted inside him, Jon felt he was entitled to a little comfort. Brendon might not have known what kind of comfort he was giving, but he held on tight, rubbing soothing circles into Jon's back, so Jon figured Brendon agreed.

When he finally forced himself to let Brendon go, Jon called Tom.

Tom said, "Hey."

And Jon said, "Hey," and then drifted into melancholy silence.

Tom said, "Jonny?" A soft inquiry.

"They weren't even dating. I mean, I'm pretty sure they will be by tomorrow but they weren't before." He sighed. "Ryan didn't know. I had to tell him."

Tom laughed in way that indicated he only wished he could find the situation funny.

Jon picked at the sleeve of his sweater. "Spencer hated me anyway." It was hardly the only thing that did, but it hurt.

Tom sighed. "Of course he did."

"What?"

"Come on, JWalk - makes even more sense if they aren't together. He's just scared, man."

"Of what? I'm not going to do anything. I wasn't, and I won't."

"Maybe he even knows that, but it's still fucking scary for him, you and Ryan. It has to be."

Jon's head hurt. "Why, though?"

Jon sensed Tom was shaking his head at him. "Because he sees what I saw. That you and Ryan have something - the way you both are - you fit somehow. If I saw it - just spending a weekend with Ryan - imagine how it must be for Spencer. Knowing Ryan like he does, living with the two of you. You won't do anything but you could."

"You know what he said to me - when he told me no, before he even knew what he was saying no to? You're not Spencer."

"No. You're Jon."

"It's not enough."

Tom sighed again. "With a kid like Ryan, I'm not sure who is."

\---

It wasn't as hard as Jon would have thought it would be, watching Spencer and Ryan together. Really together. It helped, he supposed, that he had already believed they were, that he had never felt anything like hope that it would be otherwise. Mostly it helped that Ryan was brilliantly, unabashedly happy; that he walked and talked and ate and breathed like a man in harmony with himself, like someone who knew exactly what their purpose in life was and was living it well everyday. It also didn't hurt, although Jon was especially surprised by this, that Spencer's cheeks were almost always slightly pink from happiness, that his eyes flashed with pure, involuntary triumph when he caught sight of Ryan standing by his side, when he walked into a room and instantly Ryan's eyes found his, drawn up like there was nothing else to look at in the world.

It hurt, but it was better. Better than it had been before, always watching and wondering why Ryan let him get so close, just shy of everything he told himself to stop wanting, when all the same he had Spencer to go to every night.

It was different than it was with Brendon. Jon had been living with loving Brendon and not having him long enough it almost wasn't a pain he noticed anymore, it was just with him, all the time, like missing Tom, like the music in his chest and fingers. A part of him.

Loving Ryan was something new, but it changed nothing about what he felt for Brendon. Not the strength of it, not the depth. He didn't have to give up room in his heart that had once belonged to Brendon to make room for Ryan. Instead, they fit together, and even as wanting them, loving them, seemed to fill his every breath, he still felt like there was some part of him waiting for more.

\---

Still, Jon only realized about Spencer when Tom told him. They were on the phone, and Jon was telling Tom about what a good teacher Spencer was. That he was bossy and mildly tyrannical in almost all other aspects of his life, but that in the kitchen with Jon he was infinitely patient, always finding ways to draw out the best of what Jon had done while finding ways that made him produce better, increasingly delicious things.

He was in the middle of telling Tom about the carrot souffle he was trying to figure out how to make when Tom interrupted him with a laugh, saying, "Well, at least you can't blame this one on me, JWalk."

Jon stayed on the phone in stunned silence until finally croaking, "I totally can."

Tom laughed again. "Well okay, I mean, technically. Technically this is my fault. But I didn't mean it this time!"

Jon closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I totally hate you." He meant it except for every way that he completely didn't.

Tom said quietly, "It'll be alright, man."

Jon made a noise of agreement but didn't believe him.

\---

Somehow, though, it almost was. They fell into a routine, guided carefully by Spencer, of eating together and sharing the chores and picking up after one another and remembering when each other's classes were, when one of them had an exam and when Jon had a double shift. They found a rhythm; learned when to avoid each other, when to push. Jon lived it for weeks before he noticed what was happening, so that one day he was walking home and actually stopped in his tracks, realizing that, for the first time since he'd moved away from his parents' house, somewhere else actually felt like that. Like home.

It was then that he was sure. That feeling didn't just come from Brendon being there, from Ryan, or even just from Spencer. It was all of them together; that's what made it feel like home.

Maybe it also meant Jon was a greedy, hopeless fool, but even if that was the case, it didn't stop it from being true.

\---

They spent Christmas morning, the four of them, together in their house. Spencer had stuffed four stockings surreptitiously in the night, taking Jon along for assistance, and had at one point unironically referred to Jon has his little elf helper. Jon knew he meant it because right after Spencer said it he gave Jon a leveling glare, challenging him to say anything. Wisely, Jon chose not to.

Despite his other difficulties with the holiday season, Brendon still managed to rise to the occasion of Christmas morning, bounding around the house shouting random good cheer and hugging everyone repeatedly. They all exchanged gifts and ate the food Jon and Spencer had been making for the better part of a month. Ryan had written short stories for each of them, in collusion with Tom, who had provided accompanying pictures that the stories were based on. Brendon made them each mix tapes with handmade covers; Spencer had baked for everyone and gotten them socks. Jon laughed, but Ryan's eyes lit up, and that's when Jon knew he and Brendon had been let in on a tradition somehow, and he promptly put on a pair. Spencer looked particularly smug at that achievement. Jon hadn't made his gifts, but he'd put thought into them all the same. The new Palahniuk and a leather-bound early edition of Sense and Sensibility for Ryan; new guitar strings and Mario Kart for Brendon; the knives Jon had seen him lusting after and an honest-to-god chef's hat for Spencer. Spencer wore it for most of the morning, his cheeks slightly pink, while Ryan flipped reverently through his Austen and Brendon strummed his guitar. All this in between eating and playing Brendon's mixes and watching Christmas cartoons.

In the afternoon they piled into a cab and drove to Jon's parents for massive amounts of turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and there were more presents and at one point Brendon - with encouragement from Jon's mother - actually led them in song. The whole day smelled of the best of all foods and of the sap of the tree and everywhere Jon looked around him he thought, home.

\---

And then on on the first of February, Ryan's father died.

Jon, Brendon and Spencer were all in the living room, almost watching TV and mostly just napping on each other on the couch, Brendon sprawled over Spencer and Jon, their heads resting against each other's in imitation of wakefulness when suddenly Ryan had appeared in front of them, twisting his fingers and breathing like it was something he was focusing on really hard.

Spencer shifted away from Jon immediately, pushing Brendon off himself gently, ready to leap to Ryan's side at the first sign of invitation.

Ryan looked at Spencer, blank-faced and white as a sheet.

"Ryan?" Jon asked when Spencer didn't.

Ryan swallowed and said, "My dad," and that was enough for Spencer.

He was on the couch and then he wasn't, pulling Ryan to him and holding on until Ryan's arms finally left his sides, grabbing hold of Spencer and holding on exactly like his life depended on it.

Spencer eventually eased them to the chair beside the couch, and he made room for Ryan on his lap, immediately supplying Ryan with a pillow to hold onto. Spencer waited until Ryan secured his hold and then his arms when over Ryan's, holding it with him.

They sat together in silence for a long time.

\---

When Ryan finally spoke it was to say, "I don't even know if I should go back. If I can."

Jon expected more silence, deliberation, but Spencer answered with a clear and immediate, "No."

A second later, with no less certainty, but as though he had been waiting out of respect for Spencer to have his say first, Brendon said, "No, Ryan."

Jon got it. He couldn't even imagine what it must have been like for Spencer, watching what Ryan's dad was doing to him, not just living with the effects but seeing it happen brick by brick. He had enough trouble on his own end, just dealing with it now, with the way Ryan still sometimes flinched at sudden noises, or when someone snuck up on him, got too close before he knew they were there. So he understood about Spencer, got that there was nothing Spencer wanted less than for Ryan to be in the same room with his father ever again, living or dead.

He understood even more about Brendon, Brendon who hadn't spoken to his own father in nearly three years, Brendon for whom that decision was a nightmare he awoke from shaking. Brendon survived by trying to put that life, those people, behind him. In all the ways they were different, it was something he and Ryan fundamentally shared. Better than any of them, Brendon understood what it would cost Ryan not to go, but still it wasn't anything he wanted Ryan putting himself through. Never mind that the funeral would be in Vegas, that if Ryan went, it would mean they all did, and that would mean stepping foot on Vegas soil for the first time since Brendon had gotten onto a plane when he was just barely eighteen.

Jon understood all that, which was why he accepted that he had to be the one to say, "Fuck that."

Three faces turned to him sharply, cold disbelief on Spencer's, confused sadness on Brendon's. Ryan wasn't wearing any kind of expression at all. He was just looking.

Spencer said, "Jon," a warning, but Jon shook his head.

"Don't do it for him, do it for you, Ryan. Do it so you never have to think about the fact that you didn't. Do it because we'll all be there with you, every step of the way. Do it because you are strong enough, because you can."

Ryan didn't say anything, but Jon could see that he had made up his mind. Jon took a steadying breath and reminded himself they were all up for this.

Ryan would need them. They would need each other.

They would all go.

And then they would come back home.

Part Four; Spencer

Spencer met Tom Conrad exactly six months after he called him on Ryan's phone and said, "My name is Spencer Smith. If Ryan Ross ever cries a single tear over you I will blow a hole in you the size of god."

Six months exactly since Tom responded, "Tom Conrad. You can count on me."

Spencer hadn't really believed him at the time. But since then Tom had proved pretty fucking convincing.

Spencer preferred to think about it that way, in those terms. But what really happened was that he met Tom Conrad the day after Ryan's dad died.

Spencer was sitting in the living room with Ryan, Brendon and Jon, the four of them exhausted from the grief they were trying to share, the confusion and anger they were directing at each other, at themselves. Their voices were hoarse from arguing, from tense angry phrases traded back and forth all day and most of the previous night. Ryan wanted to go home for the funeral, had wanted to ever since Jon told him he should. It angered Spencer less than it should have that Jon was the one Ryan was listening to. Somehow that wasn't the part he minded, but he minded nonetheless.

He didn't want to go back there, he didn't want to see what it would do to Ryan. It was selfishness, weakness of his own, and that was what bothered him.

It bothered him too, the way Brendon had coiled into himself since the decision had been made, the tiny half-ball he had wound himself into, the fight going on in his head so clear on his face, even if there were no answers to be found there, just hurt and confusion and doubt. Spencer was used to it by now, used to seeing Brendon and knowing how to see what was going on inside, but it was different now, so naked, so raw. Maybe it was just seeing Brendon's face in comparison to Ryan's, clamped down on itself tightly, betraying no emotion but what showed through his eyes, which had looked startled for almost 24 hours.

They were together like that, with Jon watching Brendon and Ryan as carefully as Spencer was, and maybe watching Spencer too, when there was a knock at the door. They all startled, but Jon was the one who got up. He got as far as the doorway of the living room, not quite exiting, when he was stopped in his path.

Spencer had never seen him in person before, but he recognized the scruffy person standing in front of Jon instantly as Tom.

Jon stared at him in shock like he was an aberration of Jon's exhausted mind until Tom dropped the duffel bag that was looped around him to the ground and smiled at Jon.

"Surprise."

Tom's voice seemed to wake Jon back up. He said, "Best day ever," which made absolutely no sense, and then he pulled Tom into a crushing hug, which did.

Tom held on until Jon was ready to be let go, and even then he kept a hand on Jon's shoulder as he took a step back to look at him. Jon's face cracked a little and Tom reeled him in quickly for another hug. Spencer heard him say, "What the hell have you been up to, Jonny?" but he didn't seem to expect an answer, and Jon didn't give him one.

When Tom finally let Jon go it was only because he had noticed Brendon hovering a foot away, almost buzzing with expectation, with simple want. Jon stepped back but stayed close, and Tom hugged Brendon for just as long as he'd held Jon. He smiled at Brendon when he let him go, a careful smile, right before he looked over Brendon's shoulder, locking his eyes with Jon's for a deliberate second before focusing in on Brendon again and pressing a light kiss to Brendon's lips.

Spencer heard Jon's sucked-in surprise, but got distracted watching the way Brendon didn't respond with any pressure of his own, but seemed only to smile into the kiss. "What was that for?" He asked, simple happiness, when Tom let him go.

Tom shook his head and ruffled Brendon's hair. "Because you're my favorite. That's what."

He looked at Jon one more time before leaving his and Brendon's orbit, walking across the room to stand in front of Ryan. Spencer realized that this was the moment he was supposed to feel jealousy, but it didn't come. Ryan smiled at Tom like family, and Spencer found himself quite able to do the same.

Tom said, "Hey Ryan," and Ryan got up off the couch to hug him hello, but he drew Spencer up with him, and kept their fingers connected even as he held onto Tom with the other hand.

He greeted Spencer last, with an assessing look and a sturdy pat on the shoulder.

Spencer nodded in return.

Tom adjusted his stance so he was looking at all of them and finally asked, "So just what the in hell is going on in this house, huh?"

\---

They caught him up. Tom said, "Jesus," and shook his head a lot.

The stuff about Ryan's dad Spencer got. But Spencer noticed Tom saying it to a lot of stuff that didn't really make sense, normal stuff like what they'd done for Christmas or the way Jon and Ryan were almost writing real songs these days. He didn't say anything when Brendon babbled about school, about how he was finding the forms in music in new ways, how the math was a bitch but it was helping, it was making sense, but he shook his head at Jon for some reason while Brendon told the story of this dude who he'd met studying in the library, laughing that he only realized after the fact that the guy had sort of asked him on a date.

When they were out of stories and some of the color was back in Ryan's face and almost all of it was back in Jon's, Tom shook his head again and said,

"No, seriously. What the hell is going on in this house?"

They stared at him blankly, and Ryan shifted uncomfortably, shielding himself behind Spencer a bit. Spencer tucked him in closer with an arm.

With a sigh Tom focused in on Jon, saying, "Jonny--" but Jon cut him off with a hand, his voice absolute when he said, "Don't."

Whatever he was about to do, Tom didn't.

\---

They had arrangements to make, flights to book. Spencer did it because that was the sort of thing he did, because it was something for him to do that was concrete, something for his hands to do other than clench into fists, than holding onto Ryan too tight, leaving marks. Although in Spencer's defense, that was exactly how hard Ryan held back.

The only call Ryan made himself was to Pete. Spencer left him only for a minute to help Jon in the kitchen, leaving Ryan safely with Brendon. But when he came back Ryan was away from Brendon at the other corner of the room, turned into the wall, curving yearningly around his phone.

Jon asked blankly, "Who is he talking to?"

Spencer understood the confusion. They were all already there.

Brendon pursed his lips, and gave the answer Spencer had already anticipated, "Pete."

Jon "ahhed" and looked at Spencer for a reaction. Spencer just sighed and walked over to Ryan, putting an arm around his shoulders and Ryan leaned into Spencer's chest as he continued the call.

Before he hung up Ryan said, "Bye, Pete," and, softer, "Yeah. Love you too."

He closed his phone and then his eyes, resting his forehead against Spencer's neck.

He said, "Pete thinks I should go too."

Spencer heard the question and smoothed Ryan's hair. "Other people are allowed to be right some of the time," he conceded, but carefully, for both their sakes. Ryan wasn't much more of a fan of Spencer being wrong than he himself was.

He didn't quite, but Ryan almost smiled.

\---

Tom stayed.

Spencer didn't know how the hell he'd known, or even if he had, but he was there now and Jon needed him, so Tom stayed. He slept on Jon's floor for two days while Spencer booked flights and worked on funeral arrangements with his mother. Ryan's mother was no \where to be found and Mr. Ross didn't really have any friends, not like that, not by that point in his life. Ryan made motions like he wanted to help, but Spencer wasn't putting him through that on top of everything else. His mother did most of it, she did most of the calming Spencer down too, talking him down from his anger that they were doing this at all, and mostly Spencer relayed information between Ryan and his mother, keeping things as simple for Ryan as he could.

They made arrangements with their classes, too; Jon got shifts off work. Tom had just gotten in, and Spencer didn't quite know when they had started getting put in this category, but fucked up as it was, this was for family, and that meant Brendon and Jon. It might mean Tom someday, for Jon and Brendon it already did, but Spencer was dealing with enough change for the moment. It wasn't something Ryan was particularly wanting either. Tom stayed at their house, though, drove them to the airport and then hugged each of them goodbye, assuring them he would 'hold down the fort' while they were away.

Spencer held Ryan's hand even through security, and it was a toss-up on who was squeezing tighter when the plane left the ground.

\---

They made it through the flight. Spencer holding onto Ryan's hand the entire time and, in the aisle across from them, Jon holding as much of Brendon as the seatbelts would allow. Whereas Ryan had settled into his anger, his fear, Brendon's seemed to be trying to crawl out of his skin. He hadn't been able to settle since they made the final decision to go, not even with Jon and Tom taking turns holding him, doing anything and everything they could to distract him. The only time Spencer saw snatches of calm in Brendon was when his eyes locked with Ryan's and they communicated things silently that not even Spencer could hear.

The flight was one thing, but Spencer still had his doubts he and Jon would be able to get them off the plane. Spencer wasn't sure how hard he'd be willing to try. In the end, after almost everyone else had filtered off, it was Brendon that did it. He disentangled himself from Jon and stood up, body suddenly still, eyes finding Ryan's.

He held out a hand, "Ross?"

Ryan nodded resolutely and took the hand being offered.

Brendon pulled Ryan to his feet.

\---

Spencer's whole family was there to pick them up at the airport. As he took in his sisters' worried, brave smiles and watched his mother hug Ryan first, Spencer allowed himself one minute to feel nothing but blinding happiness to see them.

\---

At the funeral they sat in a row at the back. Ryan sat between Spencer and Jon, one set of fingers wound tightly with Spencer's, the other with Jon's. Spencer waited for the familiar, angry pull of mine that usually came with Jon touching Ryan, but instead all he felt was the fervent wish for more hands, for a way to hold onto Brendon from all the way at Jon's other side, a way to feel Jon's hands through Ryan's.

The service was brief and Spencer's parents handled the coffinside receiving line. None of the random assortment of former coworkers and ex-marines who had known his father spoke to Ryan directly.

Spencer got them out of there as soon as he could, and the four of them walked out into the sunlight together holding hands.

\---

There was no reception, just the burial and going back to Spencer's parents house, laying Ryan out on Spencer's old bed and pressing their bodies together.

Brendon and Jon hovered protectively at the edges of the room until Ryan made a noise Spencer knew was a plea and he found a way to move his free hand in their direction, trying to use it to say, "Come here?"

Brendon and Jon came. And, crowded together on that old twin bed, they found a way to all hold on to each other.

\---

In the morning, Spencer made them and his family breakfast and his mother hid her smiles whenever he touched Ryan. His sisters were less subtle with their smug grinning at Ryan, as though Spencer's relationship with Ryan was a matter of family pride, a victory shared collectively. Spencer waited for a flush of embarrassment from Ryan, but all their looks made him do was stand closer to Spencer, to smile back with his chin tucked onto Spencer's shoulder.

They had lots of questions for Brendon and Jon, and Jon fielded most of Brendon's questions as well as his own, holding Brendon's hand reassuringly under the table. Spencer wondered again at the impulse, strong in his chest, to move his chair over closer to theirs and take Brendon's other hand. He glanced up at Ryan repeatedly, trying to see if this desire showed on his face, but Ryan only ever smiled back at him, a tired, sad smile, but one that was getting back on its feet; a smile of recovery. If anything, looking over to Brendon or Jon only helped Ryan's smile get brighter, hold longer.

After breakfast they went for a walk around the old neighborhood, pointing things out and having an escalating competition to tell the most embarrassing childhood story about the other. They culminated with the shared absurdity of a story that involved homemade fireworks, a stripper and make-believe neighborhood hooligans that had Brendon laughing so hard they had to stop so Jon could rub his back and smile at them gratefully while Brendon was still busy wheezing appreciatively.

Once Brendon straightened up he said, "My adolescence would have sucked a hell of a lot less if I had met you freaks earlier."

Spencer had never once looked back on his childhood and wished for anyone but Ryan to have been in it, but he found himself reacting with nothing but deep, fervent agreement when Ryan said, "Yeah, Bren, us too."

For his part, Spencer met Jon's eyes and hoped the sentiment was adequately passed along.

\---

Back in Spencer's room Jon asked gently, "Brendon, have you decided? Do you want to try and see your parents?"

Brendon shook his head so hard and so fast his teeth gnashed together and didn't stop until Ryan put a cool hand on his shoulder, but when he did, Brendon said, "Yeah."

\---

They drove up, the four of them together, in Spencer's parents' station wagon. Ryan drove and looked surprisingly natural behind the wheel. Spencer had forgotten driving was one of the things Ryan was freakily, innately good at. But whatever, it was a fucking long list. Spencer was entitled the occasional lapse.

Ryan was also driving so Jon and Spencer could be in the back with Brendon, guarding him on either side. If it had been physically possible to keep the car going safely, Ryan would have been back there, too. It hadn't been discussed, but still Spencer understood that this was true.

Brendon was uncharacteristically still and quiet the entire drive, his only movement coming in the occasional weak smile, a feeble attempt at repayment for their attempts to comfort him, as though that sort of thing was required. When they arrived his hands shook a little but he stayed quiet, didn't make any other movements.

Spencer asked, not for the first time, "Are you sure you don't want us to come in with you?"

He shook his head.

From the front Ryan said, "We'll be right out here."

Brendon nodded.

Jon didn't say anything; he just closed his eyes for a second, like he was deciding something, and then he leaned in quick, tipping up Brendon's chin and kissing him softly.

"Love you, Bren," he said, with quiet emphasis on each word.

Brendon's eyes widened comically and then he punched Jon in the stomach. Hard.

"Now you tell me?"

Jon held his stomach and smiled up at Brendon apologetically, "Bad timing?"

Brendon shook his head and then a grin began a forceful takeover of his face, "Fuck it. Better late than never."

He grinned at Jon for one more second and then dashed out of the car.

As they watched Brendon knock on the front door, and then disappear behind it, Ryan said, "He's coming right back,"

And Jon said, "I know."

\---

Brendon came back in slightly less than an hour, climbing into the backseat silently. He looked about the same. There were tear-marks on his face, but then, there had been before too.

Jon said, "Talk about it?"

Brendon shook his head, but went right in for a cuddle, wedging himself under Jon's arm, molding himself against Jon's side. Jon wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Into Jon's neck, Brendon said, "I love you, too, by the way."

Jon chuckled almost sadly and said, "Yeah, I'm finally figuring that out."

Considering how long it had been going on, Spencer could see why Jon was a little pissed at himself. He pretty much knew the feeling.

Brendon poked Jon in retribution as Ryan started driving them away.

Jon kissed hair and murmured, "love you," a promise, an apology.

Against all other odds, Brendon smiled.

\---

That night Jon and Brendon slept in the spare room and Ryan and Spencer lay awake together. Spencer was almost drifting off to sleep when Ryan curled a finger in Spencer's hair and tugged until he opened his eyes.

He whispered, "Spence, aren't you jealous?"

Spencer froze against Ryan. He hadn't thought about it in those terms until now, had been so careful not to. He almost sighed at himself for being so surprised by the question. He was often better at hiding things from himself than he was at hiding them from Ryan.

While he struggled to respond, Ryan said, "Or not jealous, exactly. But don't you wish you were there?" Ryan looked up at him through his lashes, carefully hopeful. "I wish I was there with them, that we were. Think of how beautiful Brendon's going to be right now, with Jon finally looking at him like he's wanted him to for four fucking years. Think about Jon's hands on him."

Spencer swallowed down a sound that had no meaning, that would have come out pure strangled want.

Ryan smiled at him sympathetically and kissed his neck.

"We should probably give them a little alone time. They've been waiting for each other for a long time."

Spencer croaked out, "Ryan," but Ryan met his protest with a firm kiss.

"Love you, Spencer,"

Spencer said, "I love you too." When he couldn't say anything else, he could always say that.

Ryan smiled in the dark, "I think we had to see, we had to really know that, before we could see the rest."

Spencer gulped again. Ryan ran a soothing hand up and down Spencer's hip.

"It's alright to share, I realize that now. I can share you with them because they love you too, because you should have everything you want, everything you need to be happy."

"I just need you," Spencer promised, because it was true. Ryan was enough. Always enough.

Ryan grinned almost... slyly, "Well, maybe also what you want then. You should be able to have what you want - just as long as we - they - want it too." Ryan looked entirely confident on that front.

Spencer couldn't argue with that, not as far as his own want went, couldn't try and pretend it wasn't true. He also didn't bother asking Ryan how he knew. Ryan wouldn't say it unless he was sure and that was enough for Spencer.

Ryan stilled his hand but leaned in again to kiss Spencer's cheek.

"Maybe tomorrow night."

Spencer couldn't let his mind consider such a possibility, couldn't open himself to the panic and the want, not right then. For the moment he closed his eyes and held on. Ryan held tightly back.

\---

In the morning, Spencer woke up to Ryan's smile against his neck, his hand around Spencer's cock. Noticing Spencer's eyes fluttering open, Ryan hummed a hello and started moving his hand. Spencer choked back a gasp and his own hand spasmed, grasping out for any part of Ryan he could hold onto. He ended up partially pinning Ryan to his side with a hand clamped around Ryan's shoulders.

Knowing it wasn't the name of the game at the moment, Spencer didn't bother trying to make himself last. He gave Ryan what he wanted, what they both needed, a reminder.

He came with a shudder before he was even fully conscious, and Ryan's smile turned smug and pleased against Spencer's skin.

"Love you so much, Ryan," Spencer promised, easing his hand up to Ryan's hair, running his fingers through it. Ryan leaned into the touch.

\---

When they finally got themselves up and went downstairs, Spencer's parents and sisters were already gone for work and school, but there was a note from his mother on the fridge directing them to food and wishing them all a good day.

Ryan smiled, quick and pleased. "Just like old times,"

Spencer nodded and knocked their shoulders together as he ambled about the kitchen.

"An omelet, do you think?"

Ryan nodded sleepily and continued standing before the coffee machine somewhat defiantly.

"You know how to use it," Spencer reminded him. Ryan had gotten away with never making coffee at the Smiths' for years because he pretended to be baffled by their coffeemaker, but Spencer was more than aware he was a huge faker.

Ryan scrunched his face, "It won't be as good as if Jon makes it," he pointed out.

Spencer was about to concede the point, despite the flush the mere mention of Jon's name brought suddenly to his cheeks, but from behind him came,

"Ryan Ross, you flatterer."

Ryan spun around, but recovered quickly from being caught. He smiled winningly back at Jon, "But what will it get me?"

Jon laughed a little and took a small step away from Brendon, just enough that they were no longer fully attached to each other's sides.

"For now? Good coffee."

Ryan ducked his head, "For now," and then moved aside so Jon could get to work.

Spencer watched Brendon's face carefully, but he only rolled his eyes affectionately at Spencer, sharing the joke that was Jon and Ryan.

As Jon measured and poured, Ryan crossed the kitchen and eased into Brendon's space, his smile a cautious warning for what he was about to ask.

"How was it, Bren?"

Spencer knew instantly what he meant, and apparently so did Jon, from the way his hands stilled over the canister of coffee, a scoop half raised above it.

Brendon shook his head like he was trying to erase the question, and Ryan made a quieting noise and took one of Brendon's hands. He ran his fingers along Brendon's palm.

Finally, this soothed Brendon enough to say, "The same. It was the same."

Ryan nodded. "It's good to know that. Important."

Spencer couldn't quite imagine what was good about this situation, but it seemed to make sense to Brendon, because he almost smiled when he nodded and said, "Yeah."

\---

After breakfast Jon volunteered to do the dishes, and, in a suspicious turn of events, Ryan offered to dry.

Spencer glanced between Ryan and Brendon, trying to figure out if this was a plot of some kind and, if so, whether Brendon was in on it. He just smiled tiredly. Spencer decided he looked like someone who needed to be snuggled on a couch. It was entirely possible that Ryan and Jon simply agreed.

All it took was a crook of his head in the direction of the living room and Brendon began padding over, yawning hugely and following it up with an embarrassed smile.

"Blame Jon Walker," he murmured when Spencer shook his head.

Spencer busied himself arranging pillows and a blanket around Brendon instead of letting himself think about what Jon might have been doing to Brendon that had him up all night.

"I'm good, Spence," he said, sounding like he meant it.

Spencer continued to fuss anyway. It happened to make him feel better. Brendon continued to allow him to, smiling humoringly, because he knew it.

It was just lucky Brendon was one of the three people on the planet Spencer didn't mind knowing all his tricks.

"How are things with you and Jon?" he heard himself ask, even though he had totally intended to ask Brendon if he wanted another cup of coffee.

Brendon smiled, secret and sweet and fuck. Ryan was so right. Spencer wanted in on that secret soso bad.

"He loves me." He sounded a little awed, but completely certain.

Spencer nodded. "Damn right."

Brendon tilted his head like he'd heard the things Spencer had been so sure not to say, "Spence?"

Spencer smiled, it was easy to smile at Brendon. "I'm so happy for you, for both of you."

Brendon chuckled. "Well, you did spend the last two and a half months trying to mastermind the relationship, so yeah, I guess you would be."

Spencer flushed, "I did not."

Brendon laughed more. "Sure, Spence."

"I just wanted you two to be happy," he admitted softly, since he had already been caught.

Brendon said, "Hey, it's okay. I know that now. I mean, I kind of didn't get it before, I thought... I didn't realize it was about me, and I didn't think it was ever going to happen but," he shrugged happily. "I was kind of being an idiot about that, as it turns out."

"Just careful," Spencer corrected, knowing the feeling.

Brendon pressed their knees together and looked at Spencer with soft eyes, "Yeah."

\---

Brendon actually drifted off to sleep and Spencer eased out from under him, ambling back to the kitchen. Jon and Ryan were still standing over the sinks, but all the dishes were done. Their heads were bent down together, almost touching, they were talking in quick, soft phrases.

Spencer said, "Secret meeting?"

And Jon actually flinched with surprise, taking a quick step away from Ryan. Spencer furrowed his brow but Ryan smiled reassuringly.

"Just trying to take over the world," he promised nonsensically.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Alright then."

Jon said, "Spencer," but Spencer shook his head.

"I trust you," he didn't bother to differentiate between them. He meant both.

Jon smiled, sudden, proud. Spencer wondered if he had actually failed to express that to Jon previously. He was clearly more of an asshole than he realized.

He tried to give Jon a look that apologized without actually acknowledging what he was apologizing for, because evidently he was still kind of an asshole, but Jon dismissed the apology, saying,

"It's okay, Spencer. I understood."

"It's not okay," Spencer found himself saying, "It wasn't okay. I knew you wouldn't do anything about it, I knew. I mean, I could tell what kind of a guy you were - there's a reason--" he made himself stop. All he was doing was talking faster and making less sense. "I shouldn't have made you think I didn't know that, that I thought less of you than I did. Not just because I was scared."

Jon looked at him squarely, "I understood."

Ryan raised a hand, "I didn't really understand, for the record. But that's cause I tend to miss things."

Jon and Spencer both laughed softly at this.

"Less so now though," Ryan continued with intent, keeping his eyes on both of them.

Spencer felt his pulse race and he swallowed, looking down at the floor. When he looked up Jon was staring at the cupboards above Ryan's head.

Spencer thought the silence might have stretched on indefinitely if it hadn't been for Brendon suddenly appearing behind him, rubbing tiredly at his neck, his eyes widening hugely when he took them in.

"Oh, wow. Are we actually talking about this now?"

Jon stammered, and Spencer didn't even manage that, but Ryan nodded confidently and said, "Yes. We are."

Brendon ran a hand through his hair, a mannerism Spencer recognized more as Jon's. Spencer wondered if Brendon was like him, sometimes picking up the gestures of others when he was thinking of them, wishing for them. "Jesus. Okay."

Ryan said, "Jon, go hug Brendon,"

Ryan was certainly right in that Brendon looked like he could use it.

Jon was quick to comply. Brendon hugged back gratefully and Jon left an arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

Ryan smiled at all of them. "This is a good thing. This is going to be a really good thing." He sounded like he believed it, and Spencer breathed a little easier.

Jon said, "Look, Ryan--"

But Ryan interrupted him by saying, "Hands up if you're in love with Brendon Urie," and then he raised his hand.

Brendon's mouth hung open a little at this, but his eyes still followed Jon's hand as his raised also.

Three pairs of eyes flicked curiously over to Spencer, and he waited only for a small encouraging smile from Ryan before raising his hand. It was nothing but the truth.

Brendon made a little sound, something like shock and something like wonder, but then Ryan was saying, "Awesome. Hands up if you're in love with Jon Walker,"

Spencer and Ryan's hands stayed up. Brendon shared his grin between them while Jon swallowed and held on tighter to his shoulders.

Ryan's smiled increased. "Spencer Smith?" Ryan's hand was already up as he said this, and this time it was Brendon's hand that went up, fast like he was doing it before he could consider the ramifications.

Spencer blinked. He hadn't known. Not even when Ryan said it, not really. Not like this, right in front of him. Making his heart race in his chest, making him believe.

But before he could get over the sight of Brendon's raised hand there was Jon's, making the vote unanimous. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but the feeling, the heady, dizzying joy, increased.

Ryan dropped his hand to rub it gleefully with his other. They looked at him expectantly. He laughed. "Oh, I don't have to take a vote. I already know you guys are all totally in love with me."

For a second Spencer was sure he wasn't the only one contemplating murdering Ryan, but they all laughed instead.

Ryan continued to grin, "How could you not?"

It was hardly a question one among them was qualified to answer.

The end

Epilogue; Sean

Sean met Tom Conrad busking on the corner in front of Sean's work. Tom was playing guitar and singing. He was doing the former very well and the latter very badly.

Because he happened to be that kind of guy, Sean stopped in front of Tom, pushing his sunglasses onto his hair and saying, "You could really use a better set of vocal chords to go with that kickass guitar playing,"

Tom kept playing but stopped singing, looking at Sean speculatively, as though he was deciding whether or not to be pissed off.

"You think you can do better?"

Sean had to be at work in five minutes; if he was late one more time he was going to get fired.

He dropped his bag beside Tom's open guitar case and listened through the changes, picking up the song Tom was playing, a slowed down cover of The Weight. He shook his head at the sky for a minute and started singing.

Tom grinned at him and kept playing.


End file.
